Critical Mass
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: DV-7892, "Demo," is a member of Knight Squadron, a unit of elite pilots personally overseen by General Hux. Ruthless, efficient, and unwavering, Demo is regarded as an example of the perfect stormtrooper. Until she betrayed them. When Poe Dameron is sent to bring her in, he discovers there is far more to her story, and to the boy under her protection.
1. Prologue

Welcome to Ashley has too many stories and literally no restraint. This week, we're bringing you Star Wars! Here's to the new movie, and the new episode of The Mandalorian tomorrow!

Enjoy!

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_"There is one thing in the world more  
wicked than the desire to command,  
and that is the will to obey."_

\- William Kingdon Clifford

**Prologue**

_Ring of Kafrene_

It had once been a populous mining site, home to a multitude of cultures and corporations, but the collapse of the Empire lead to many of the mines being closed down – no more Death Stars to build after all – and the area fell into disrepair. The Hutts attempted to take control of the region, but their reach had dwindled over the past decade, leaving the station in the hands of local gangs. It had become a hotbed of illegal activity – not that things had been easygoing under Imperial rule – with a reputation that rivaled some of the Outer Rim worlds.

So, of course his person of interest would be holed up here.

Poe Dameron sighed as he stepped into the spaceport, vaguely paying attention as the docking clamps grinded into place. The old, two-seater freighter was a far cry from his T-70, but the point of the mission was to not draw attention to himself. Also to preferably not get his ship stolen. An X-Wing wouldn't last more than an hour in this spaceport. He didn't even think the freighter would, and that rusting block hadn't seen active service since before the Clone Wars.

BB-8 rolled up beside him, gently nudging his boot and whistling softly.

"Yeah, buddy, I'm starting to think I should have left you home too," he replied.

The air was stale and stank of grease, oil, and other things he'd rather not think about. Most of the equipment was retrofitted mining machinery with exposed wires and layers of rust. Something electrical was sparking on the far end of the docking bay, and there was a lone astromech lying on the ground. Occasionally it beeped, but no one seemed to care.

Inside the station was bound to be interesting.

"I wouldn't linger, if I were you."

Poe turned to the bay doors, finding them open and occupied by a dark green Rodian. He was tapping on a datapad.

"This level's got a faulty grid. Power tends to cut and then you're off for a nice – if brief – space trip."

Panicking, BB-8 cried, launching a cable into the nearest wall.

Poe pat the poor droid before walking to the doors. Eventually, he heard the sound of his friend rolling behind him – and then rapidly in front of him.

"What's my docking fee?" he asked, feeling a small amount of relief when the doors closed behind him.

"Hundred fifty credits first day. One hundred for every day after."

"And what's the fee if I don't want my ship to go mysteriously missing?"

If Rodians were capable of smiling, the one before him would be grinning from ear to ear.

"Add another fifty credits on top," the Rodian replied, accepting his credit chip. "Here I thought you were another one of those Core pilots. Come to this heap looking for adventure, and they lose everything but the clothes on their backs. Sometimes, they lose those too."

"I used to be," Poe said, walking down the narrow corridor. He ignored the way the lights flickered as he passed by, as well as what could be described as whimpering on BB-8's part.

The doors at the end opened slowly, grinding on gears that were undoubtedly rusted as well, revealing an unusual world.

The Ring of Kafrene was an outpost that connected two asteroids. There was no natural atmosphere, gravity, or vegetation. It was rock and metal, a self-contained unit that relied heavily on trade to keep running. Problem was, Kafrene didn't lie on any well-travelled trade routes. Without the allure of a thriving mining community, most vessels moved on to safer, better known stops.

Metal towers, conduits, and piping shot upward for as far as Poe could see. The air was thick with steam and other chemicals being churned into the atmosphere out of various vents, clouding the passageways so that there always appeared to be a fog. Everything was a shade of brown, and he doubted that it started that way.

Further up, ships drifted through the gap between the asteroids, where the tops of building stared back at him.

It was enough to make him dizzy.

Aliens of every type shuffled around the area, some in piloting gear, others armed to the teeth, a few sat on the ground begging for spare credits. A bounty hunter dragged a shouting Dug through the crowd. No one reacted. Most just moved along, quiet and plodding. It was another day for them.

"Maybe I still am," he whispered.

He wandered with the crowd for some time, actively keeping BB-8 in front of him – only three passersby attempted to interact with the droid, each met with the same number of volts – until he came across the cantina he was looking for. At least it smelled like something remotely edible over the same stale air.

A young Twi'lek held her hand up as he entered the space, looking him over like she could smell the offworlder on him.

"We don't serve droids here."

Poe looked down at BB-8, who looked up at him. They both looked at the droid working behind the bar, serving drinks and making programmed small talk.

"Well, I've never seen a droid eat anything."

Her eyes glazed over, pupils momentarily scraping the top of her head, before she sighed and moved on, handing drinks over to a rowdy table of miners.

Poe shrugged, and sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools.

And there he waited.

Time passed slowly, and Poe had to actively restrain himself from constantly checking the door. General Organa's mission layout was simple: the contact would come to him. He wasn't to move until then.

Three days ago, C-3PO received an encoded message from one of his contacts – frankly, the idea that a protocol droid had an underground spy network at his proverbial fingertips was still strange to him – detailing a curious event that had occurred on Canto Bight. It alleged that a First Order operative had gone rogue. Leia had decided to err on the side of caution until yesterday when 3PO received a second transmission from this spaceport.

It was potentially the largest lead on the First Order they had ever received – someone who was actually on the inside, and actively seeking a way out – yet Leia had still offered him a choice. It would be dangerous – and was possibly a trap – and if he felt the risk was too great, then they would leave it be.

"It's like you don't know me, General," he'd said with a smile. "I haven't met a risk yet that wasn't worth the effort."

Her smile wasn't quite there. "Sometimes, Dameron, I wish you had."

He'd spent the entire trip mulling over those words.

The Gran that had been occupying the bar since he arrived stood to leave, mumbling some obscenities as he shuffled toward the door. That left Poe alone at the bar – nearly alone in the cantina minus the miner party – and a little sullen at that. A crowded place was better for meeting. Here might have been downright suspicious.

He chanced a glance at the door.

"You humans never were good at being subtle."

Poe looked back to the droid behind the bar. It was a tall, thin thing, with one red sensor that watched him. Perhaps the only thing not rusting in the area, it still maintained a metallic sheen. Someone had jokingly tied a bowtie to what would have been its neck region.

"Excuse me?"

The entire time, the droid had been speaking in simple phrases, exhibiting a simple etiquette programming, but that appeared to have been a ruse on its part.

"Your species fidgets too much. It has a low tolerance for sitting still. Imagine how little would get done if a droid acted the same way."

Poe lowered his voice. "Are you…?"

He could have sworn the droid looked disappointed. "Were you expecting something organic?"

You know, he really didn't have an answer for that.

Poe waited as the droid continued cleaning the bar top, now acutely aware of how much movement his body was making. He continually caught his fingers tapping on the countertop and would put his hands on his lap, only then his knee would start bouncing. BB-8 had grabbed his foot with a little claw to keep it still.

"You're not helping."

The droid whistled shrilly.

Poe pointed a finger at him. "That was rude."

Eventually, the bar droid placed a small cup in front of him without a word. Poe watched it briefly, but it no longer acknowledged him, chirping out a chipper greeting to a Talz that had just entered.

Inside the cup was a small data drive.

Poe watched it a moment, wondering if he shouldn't pretend to take a drink. Instead, he counted to one hundred, grabbed the drive, and made his way out of the cantina.

The crowds had died down slightly, apparently having gone through a shift change when he first entered. Still, there was a steady current of aliens traveling down the narrow passageways. Poe let himself be directed by them, hoping to blend in as much as possible until he chanced upon a more private setting.

They passed through a small marketplace, where the citizens of the station haggled over used equipment and fried food. The walk became suffocating, as it was apparent that the stalls had not initially been considered as part of the station's original layout, leaving the travelers packed shoulder to shoulder.

A small fistfight broke out, knocking over a fruit stand. This led to several individuals grabbing the wayward Jogan fruit and making a run for it, leaving the owner cursing in what he thought was Huttese.

Poe took the momentary chaos as an opportunity to stray from the beaten path, taking a narrow passageway that was lined with piping and probably served as more of a maintenance access. It widened out at the middle, opening up to a chamber that was filled with steam drifting from various vents rising up through dozens of levels. BB-8 just barely managed to roll through, leaving him somewhat confident that they would be alright for the time being.

"Alright, buddy," he said, taking a knee before BB-8 and handing out the drive. "Let's see what you can make of this."

BB-8 beeped in acknowledgement, taking the drive. It only took a moment for his systems to process the data, producing a hologram of a still image – a young woman looking over her shoulder, face slightly blurred – and a few sentences of info.

"Arrived on the station in an unauthorized Republic ship," Poe mumbled, confused by how random the information seemed to be. "Logs wiped clean. Dock personnel unable to locate. Incident on level eighty-two involving half a dozen casualties potentially tied to her. I don't know, this seems like a lot of loosely connected stuff. How do we know it's her?"

His droid whistled and another image appeared, this one dated for the incident in Canto Bight. The projection wasn't nearly as clear as the first, but Poe could tell it was clearly the same woman.

"Alright," Poe acknowledged, standing up at the holograms disappeared. "So, now we just have to find her…in the middle of all this. Yeah, no problem."

The droid beeped.

"Yes, I know I said it would be worth it."

Poe ran a hand over his face. It wouldn't have been the first time he was wrong.

"Is that a BB-series astromech?!"

Startled by the sudden voice, Poe almost pulled the blaster hidden in his jacket, but was able to restrain himself long enough to get a good look at the boy that was now watching them from the opening.

He couldn't have been older than twelve, staring at them with curious hazel eyes and a grin nearly too big for his face. His blonde hair stuck up in all directions, his clothes were covered in grease and grime, and in his hand, he held a single Jogan fruit, clearly having taken advantage of the tussle as well.

BB-8 whistled, his head bobbing back and forth like a proud little shake.

"How did you get one here?" the boy asked, darting out from the narrow passageway and falling to his knees in front of the droid. "Last decent looking droid I saw got scrapped for parts within the hour."

Ignoring the cries of panic from his friend, Poe actually smiled at the kid. At least someone around the area hadn't had their spirits dampened yet.

"Beebee-Ate isn't about to go down without a fight, and trust me, this guy's got a lot of it in him," he replied, patting the droid.

"Has he seen a lot of action?"

Poe shrugged. "A skirmish or two. Nothing he couldn't handle."

BB-8 was practically humming from the attention.

The boy looked up at him. "So, you're not from around here. Why come to this place? We're not exactly near anything."

"Business."

"What kind of business?"

Poe felt his eyes narrowing. "What's with all the questions, kid?"

The boy shrugged, taking a bite from the Jogan. "I have to ask them."

"Why?"

"I needed to distract you somehow," he replied, eyes landing on something that was definitely behind him.

Poe didn't even get the chance to reach for his blaster before something struck the back of his knee, hard, and his leg crumpled to the ground. The other leg followed suit, except when it hit the ground, he felt a mass remain there, applying pressure to his calf. It felt like a knee.

An arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing. The pressure wasn't enough to render him unconscious, but warned that the outcome was possible if he didn't comply.

A shot fired, an electrical burst striking BB-8. The poor droid short-circuited, his components shooting out haphazardly before his systems automatically shut down to prevent further damage to his internal drives.

"Hey! What are you-" Poe choked as the arm squeezed tighter, making his vision pulse. He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Okay."

The boy frowned. "Sorry."

He felt the attacker's hand reach under his jacket, securing the blaster.

"Can I have it?" the boy asked, face lighting up briefly before he assumed the attacker gave him a look. The frown returned. "Okay."

"So, I take it you're the fugitive from the First Order, right?" Poe asked, risking further damage to himself, but the arm did not squeeze again. "I mean, you have to be. You're not asking for any credits."

There was no response.

"You didn't shoot me, which is nice. Means you don't want me dead. And if you don't want me dead, that means I have something you want, right?"

Still nothing.

"You know, I've never been good at these guessing games. You're gonna have to speak u-"

Their free hand slapped against his forehead, pulling his head back until he had a good – albeit upside down – view of their face.

And there she was, the woman in the hologram.

She _was _young, somewhere around his age, though the stern look on her face made her look older. Her dark hair was falling out of a bun, framing a bruised face – the incident wasn't completely one-sided then – and equally dark eyes.

"Do all members of the Resistance talk this much?"

"No. Just me," he mumbled. "I've been told it's a problem."

She sighed and shoved his head forward again.

"Get the droid," she ordered. The boy dropped his fruit and immediately went to BB-8, pushing all his components back in place.

Poe watched it happen, slowly moving his free leg to the side. If he could just knock her off balance, he might have a chance.

When the time felt right, he clasped her arm with both hands and pushed with his leg, careening them both to the side. Using his weight against her, Poe made her land on her back, the force of his shoulders striking her chest causing her arm to release him.

He scrambled out of her grasp, rolling to the side, but the woman recovered fast. Poe felt her hands grasp the back of his jacket, halting his escape attempt and pulling him back. She swung her leg over his body, sitting on his chest, this time not bothering to ease the pressure. Breathing was difficult.

She pointed a blaster at him.

"Using the stun setting within two feet of a target causes irreparable damage to the nervous system," the woman said, the words tumbling from her mouth without a single inflection, as if she was reciting it from a lesson. "You won't be doing that again."

Poe Dameron couldn't help but wonder if General Organa wasn't suddenly feeling smug at that moment.

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And there it is! Please let me know what you think! Until next time!


	2. Chapter One

Hello all!

So, I personally love The Rise of Skywalker to death and that has made me even more excited to continue this story. It's going to be CRAZY!

Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows!

Onward!

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**Chapter One**

_Two Weeks Earlier  
The Unknown Regions_

DV-7892 did not necessarily prefer space. When she was given an order, she followed it as any good soldier should, but there was no denying the little spark of personal expectation that found its way into her chest. Dry environments were better than wet, warm was better than cold. If all their targets could be found on systems with agreeable climates, missions would go that much easier, but that was not the way of things.

But space, she found, was always agreeable to her.

The general feeling she got from the other troopers was that space was a terrifying beast. It was cold, dark, empty, and lifeless. Some had admitted a sort of terror at the idea of being confronted with such a void, especially in a small fighter like the one she occupied. One crack in the hull, and that could be it. There was no chance for recovery in the throes of space.

But within the darkness, she found a calm that she could not quite connect with in the barracks. Perhaps it was merely the emptiness, the quiet that she was not afforded anywhere else, but sometimes, some part of her wondered if there wasn't more to it. The thought was brief and quickly snuffed out by more important tasks at hand, yet it always lingered somewhere in the back of her mind, an idea discarded yet still within sight.

Sometimes she found herself staring at a distant star and wondering what was there.

A series of taps returned her mind to the present.

'_You're doing it again,' _the code spelled out.

DV-7892 sighed, reaching down to the metal bar beneath her seat and producing her own series of taps.

'_You don't know what I'm doing.'_

It was a First Order code, used by all troopers when a mission required radio silence. DV-7892 and her TIE gunner, DV-7896, used it frequently to pass the time. Alone in their TIE, many assumed they would simply speak with one another, given they sat back to back, but both preferred the silence and the concentration required to communicate with the code. They had started using it with one another when they were young, and the method had stuck.

'_Staring into space wistefully at the stars.'_

'_Wistfully,' _she corrected. _'Only you would make a spelling error in code.'_

'_That wasn't disagreement, Demo.'_

Demo. Short for demonstration. To save on time, all troopers gave each other nicknames, though they never spoke them in front of their superior officers.

Her unit, Knight Squadron, was an experiment of General Hux's. He took the best of the stormtroopers and subjected them to harsher training, grueling environments, and unthinkable tests in order to form the perfect elite unit. Only four had passed the first class. Many had been transferred to other units; others had died.

DV-7892 was the stormtrooper he used to show off his accomplishments, to demonstrate them as it were, and that was how Demo came to be.

DV-7896 was simpler. He was her gunner, and so that was what he would always be. Gunner was the best shot that the First Order had ever seen. If he missed anything, it was because he meant to.

For the past fifteen years, they had been watching one another's backs, an unstoppable force amongst the other troopers. Whenever they set their mind to something, it was only a matter of when it would be accomplished, not if.

Demo shook her head at Gunner's remark, choosing to let silence fall again.

They had been drifting in space for the better part of six hours, watching a derelict ship that rested just outside a local asteroid belt. She hadn't consumed any food or water during that time, and her legs had been utterly still since they began their watch, but Demo knew the instant it was necessary, her body would perform exactly as she wanted it to. They had trained for this as well, but for far longer. Six hours was nothing.

'_Still want to be in there?' _Demo tapped, there being the ship. Currently on the bridge of the old freighter they were watching, their other squad mates, DVs-7956 and 7977, were transmitting a distress signal. If everything went to plan, a local band of pirates would pick up on the signal and investigate. The group had grown confident as of late and had the audacity to attack a First Order cruiser.

A message needed to be sent.

'_I _would_ like to see their faces before we space them.'_

Demo's reply was cut short by the arrival of a ship dropping from hyperspace. It was an ugly thing, once a Corellian freighter, but over the years, the pirates had crudely retrofitted various ship parts to the outside, making it more of a junk heap than any of the ships they pillaged. Several living pods had been haphazardly welded onto the frame at various points and two plasma cannons had been attached to either side. They were made for a ship far larger than the one the pirates were currently occupying, and Demo briefly wondered if they had ever actually been fired. The electrical output alone would be enough to cripple the ship.

Another ship arrived soon after. It was a smaller fighter, an old A-Wing from the Imperial age. Though nothing had been added to it, the ship sported an unappealing array of colors.

'_Ships aren't big enough,' _Gunner tapped.

He was right. The freighter was unlikely to ever fly in atmosphere, its awkward fittings making the ship's balance highly unstable. There had to be another ship that the crew returned to, but they were smart enough not to send it after a simple distress signal.

Demo considered her expectations defied.

'_Breaking radio silence.'_

She reached forward, flipping a small switch on her console. Demo listened to the static briefly, waiting for any indication that something was off, before communicating with their squad mates via the same code.

'_Parameters changed. Clear out crew, board freighter. Await further instruction.'_

Demo did not wait for a reply as she switched the comms back off.

Quietly, she watched as the freighter docked with their decoy transport, the smaller thrusters awkwardly shifting the bulky ship into place as its top hatch attempted to connect to the external dock. There was no sound in space, but she could still hear metal grinding against metal, a teeth-clenching sensation. The pilot was a novice, or drunk. Either way, the boarding party did not appear to have any concerns about potential danger.

'_This is what's been attacking us? Someone needs a demotion.'_

Demo tapped twice against the bar, effectively ending their silent conversation. They did not have time for distraction now. She had to wait for the signal. Their squad never said what the signals would be, but they always knew what they were when they appeared. The group had a talent for intuitive communication in that way, which had made them an effective force in the past.

She leaned forward in her seat, keeping an eye on the A-Wing that circled their ship in a lazy orbit. Its turns were slow, at ease, the pilot was clearly not keeping an eye out for anything. They would never notice the lone TIE resting in the shadow of an asteroid.

So, they waited.

The bridge of their decoy ship lit up momentarily, before the glass of the viewports burst, sending thousands of shrapnel fragments shooting into space, as well as several bodies.

They never had been subtle.

Without her gaze ever leaving the A-Wing, Demo brought the TIE to life, shooting into open space from their hiding position within seconds of the explosion. Despite the relaxed flight patterns of the pilot, they were quick to notice their ship converging on their position, kicking their thrusters to life and rapidly fleeing the scene.

"Round him up, Gunner," Demo finally spoke, tongue feeling dry in her mouth. The A-Wing may have been an older model, but it still had a speed advantage against them. DV-7896 took quick, calculated shots on the ship's starboard side, easing the panicked pilot toward the asteroid field. It would make pursuit more difficult, but keep the ship from hitting lightspeed and warning the others.

Once amongst the asteroids, the TIE's maneuverability took center stage. The A-Wing was still in a panic, attempting dangerous turns that nearly rammed the ship's frame into the closest asteroid, but they never managed to lose Demo. She piloted the ship around the debris with practiced ease, capable of keeping her eyes focused on the ship ahead while completely avoiding the dangers to their left and right.

They hit a brief straightaway. Many pilots would have taken the time to center their shots, and missed as the A-Wing rounded another asteroid, but the mere seconds were all Gunner needed to fire. The ship took a hit on its back thruster, careening into another asteroid and exploding in a brief ball of fire before the vacuum of space wiped the evidence away.

Demo pulled the TIE out of the field, twisting around and returning to the decoy ship.

"You're getting slow," she said, flipping the comms back online.

"I just pull the trigger," Gunner replied, his deep voice muffled by his helmet. "You were the one taking your time."

"Fuse, Seven," Demo called out over comms, for DVs-7956 and 7977, respectfully. "Are we in the clear?"

"One moment, Commander!" was the reply from Seven, interrupted by static and grunting. "Ship's clear. You may board when ready."

Demo landed the fighter in the ship's docking bay, noting the other fighter that was already there. Had the pirates had a single functioning cell in their brains, they might have thought to check around before heading straight to the bridge, but apparently nothing was too good to be true for them.

Despite the all clear, Demo and Gunner kept their blasters at the ready, waiting for the potential missed target, but the hallways were quiet as they made their way to the Corellian freighter. Unsubtle they may have been, but their squad mates hadn't let them down yet. They were Knight Squadron through and through.

"This place smells like a garbage chute," Gunner noted as they entered the ship.

Seven and Fuse awaited them inside, standing side by side in the black uniforms that identified the squadron. On each of their right shoulders was a clearly marked saber in red, the patch of their unit. For the time being, only four soldiers had attained the patch, yet every member of the First Order knew it when they saw it, and made certain to steer clear.

At the feet of her squad mates was a bloodied human, more than likely the pilot of the ship. He stared up at them with wide, terrified eyes. He was young, younger than them at any rate.

"Are there coordinates for the main ship in the nav computer?" Demo asked.

Seven nodded, his helmet jiggling slightly. "Yes, Commander. The pilot was ready to break out as we came on board."

"Then why is he here?"

"Kid insists he can help us get on board," Fuse replied, picking at his blaster. "We thought to leave the decision with you."

Her blaster fired once, and his body crumpled to the floor.

"If we needed help, we wouldn't be here," Demo said, sliding into the pilot's seat while Seven grabbed the co-pilot's. Gunner dragged the pilot away while Fuse tended to the hole in his right shoulder. "You injured, Fuse?"

"Shrapnel caught my uniform. No physical damage."

"That was quite the explosion you rigged," Gunner said, bumping Fuse on the shoulder. "The general probably saw it back at base."

Seven shook his head. "My ears are still ringing."

The jump to lightspeed lasted no more than ten minutes, bringing them to a halt before a heavy freighter that orbited a large, unnamed gas planet; the dark colors of the freighter stood stark against the bright orange of the planet beside them. Like the other ships they had encountered, the large freighter was a jumble of various parts welded onto the ship, making its silhouette grotesque in appearance. The size had nearly doubled from the patchwork.

"Fuse, tell me about our guns," Demo said, observing the ship. She half expected it to disappear at any moment. They were missing an A-Wing after all.

"They're more for show than anything else, Commander," Fuse's voice crackled over the comms. He'd disappeared into engineering after they had jumped to lightspeed. "These things haven't been fired since they were welded onto the hull. The connections are all there, but I don't know what kind of damage these things have seen."

"What are our odds?"

"Forty-sixty if I'm being optimistic, but the force alone might sheer the ship in two."

"So we should fire from inside the freighter."

Gunner sighed. "Strap in, everyone. Commander's got an idea."

* * *

There were no docking codes requested as the ship approached the bay, no cannons fired up in warning. A single Toydarian was smoking a death stick in the back corner as he sorted through scrap on the floor. It was only after all four members of Knight Squadron had stepped onto the platform that he decided to acknowledge any presence in the room.

"Abandon your escort again, Jeso? Next time, why don't you-"

He paused as his gaze landed on them.

Gunner fired one shot.

The squad crossed over the bay, heading to the blaster doors on the far end. Seven jammed the doors shut, and the four troopers proceeded to jog down the empty hallway, taking a quick turn down another before halting.

"Do it, Fuse," Demo ordered.

"Fire in the hole," Fuse replied, pressing a button on his transmitter.

There were two explosions, one as the plasma cannons fired straight back toward the main thrusters, and another as the transport itself imploded, the cannons, as Fuse surmised, having taken too much damage over time. Unable to contain the blast fully, they backfired. As a result, the squad watched as the blast door flew down the hallway before jamming itself in the bulkhead.

"That'll do it," Gunner said.

From there, everything fell into place. Two by two, Knight Squadron moved through the hallways, Demo and Gunner in the lead while Fuse and Seven brought up the rear, clearing the ship of enemy targets. This was the unit's element, what they had trained for since before they could remember. Synchronous movement unimpeded by mediocrity, ignorance, or pride. Every part had its place in the whole. The DV troopers trusted one another completely, able to focus on their tasks without worry of exposure from a different angle.

The explosion had put the ship into chaos. Most of the pirates they shot were simply running in panic, shouting in various languages about what was going on. What few armed individuals they found never got a shot off. No one was expecting an incursion.

The bridge doors had been sealed by the time they arrived. It seemed some sense had returned to the remaining crew, and communication had been reestablished.

"Seven. Fuse. You're up," Demo said. The two troopers ran up to the door, as Demo and Gunner took a knee, each leaning against one side of the hall. They kept their blasters trained ahead, waiting. Every target that made its way into their line of sight was dropped from a blaster bolt before they got the chance to take cover.

Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Demo moved forward around the corner, taking cover as another small explosion tore the door off the bridge.

As one, the unit moved into the bridge, firing rounds at those who attempted to fight back. It left two targets untouched: a human and a Gran. Demo surged forward, holding her blaster in one hand as she grabbed the human with the other.

"Are there any more ships?" she demanded.

"I…I don't…"

Demo thrust her blaster into his chest and fired before grabbing the Gran.

"Are there any more ships?" she repeated.

"Two!" the Gran shouted, arms raised, his trio of eyes wide and panicked. "There are two, but they aren't in the sector!"

She shoved him against the console, moving to the comms panel. A single shot fired off. Gunner joined her soon after, having left Seven and Fuse covering the door.

"Check the logs," Demo ordered, fingers dancing on the keyboard as she entered a familiar code. "Get me those ships."

"Yes, Commander."

Demo stepped back from the console, releasing her blaster to leave it hanging from a strap attached to her hip as she fell into a parade rest. The small transmitter fired up, revealing a hologram of a young officer, rigid and stern, with an air of superiority that managed to travel across the light years.

General Armitage Hux.

"DV-7892, my system indicates you are outside your sector of engagement. Explain your deviation," the hologram demanded.

"General, Knight Squadron engaged the enemy at our previous coordinates, but intel indicated that the two ships baited were part of a larger sum. On my orders, we traced the ships back to their origin point and have since taken control of what appears to be the main base of operations in this region."

Hux looked thoughtful. "Casualties?"

"At least fifty hostile targets, sir. No casualties on our end," Demo replied, glancing briefly in Gunner's direction. He nodded. "Sir, with your permission, I would like to engage to ships that are not currently present. We have their coordinates."

The general waved his hand. "Leave them. Such small things aren't worth our attention. Without their main source of power, these bandit scum will turn on one another and disappear from the system."

"Yes, General."

"Return to the _Finalizer_. Supreme Leader Snoke has requested our presence."

* * *

_The Finalizer_

Armitage Hux was always hit with a swell of anticipation whenever he had an audience with the Supreme Leader. He wouldn't call the feeling nervousness – that would imply he had performed in such a poor fashion that it warranted fear – but there was always a modicum of unpredictability to the meetings that left him wary of any outcome. That unease always increased whenever Kylo Ren was present. The Supreme Leader's lap dog was always chomping at the bit. His enjoyment of the chaotic always seemed to counter the First Order's vision, but so long as he obeyed Snoke, Hux could hardly complain.

Well, he could, just not to the Supreme Leader.

Even though he was light years away, Hux could feel the Supreme Leader's power pulsating in the room. He'd once witnessed him raise Kylo Ren's lightsaber for a closer inspection, and he himself had only been a hologram projection at the time. It was that sort of power that made him confident to take on Kylo Ren's far more contained abilities in person.

He entered the chamber slowly, precision in every step, hands tucked behind his back. Behind him, Hux had no doubt DV-7892 was doing the same. He could hear her footfalls echoing his, loud, confident, a soldier on parade. She performed well.

Kylo Ren was sitting on a small bench at the base of the projection, watching them carefully, his lightsaber in hand. Surrounding the room were four of his 'knights.' They were quiet, conspicuous things that always seemed one breath away from attempting to strike him down, but they straightened at his arrival, their weapons at the ready.

Hux heard the small click of DV-7892's blaster safety.

Now that would be something to see.

They came to a halt at a respectable distance, the hologram of the Supreme Leader looming over them.

"General Hux, I have been told Knight Squadron has dealt with your little problem."

He felt that smugness rise in him, casting a glance at Ren. "Yes, Supreme Leader, the nuisance has been dispatched. There should be no more interference with construction. The base will be completed on time."

"Precisely as I foresaw. The Republic's time in the light grows ever shorter," Snoke replied, allowing himself a deep chuckle. "It seems that your little project is beginning to bear fruit."

"Knight Squadron has become an elite force of no compare," Hux said, taking a step forward. He eyed the knights against the walls, wondering if they understood the concept. They never spoke, and at times a distant part of his mind toyed with the idea that Kylo Ren had ripped their tongues out. "There is no target that they cannot eliminate; there is no system that is not within their reach. The Resistance, the Republic, all their hapless soldiers pale in comparison."

Kylo Ren had snapped his head up. He looked ready to say something, but in the presence of the Supreme Leader, he kept his mouth closed.

"We shall see," Snoke said slowly, stroking his chin. "Step forward, trooper."

Hux stepped aside, allowing DV-7892 to pass. As she had been instructed, there was no hesitance. Aside from himself, Supreme Leader Snoke was to be the only authority figure she obeyed. Kylo Ren would not get an inch from any member of Knight Squadron.

DV-7892 took a knee, swinging her blaster around so it would not make contact with the floor.

"So this is the commander of Knight Squadron. What is your designation?"

"Deevee Seven Eight Nine Two, Supreme Leader," was her reply. Clipped, quick, no wavering in her voice.

"Rise, and come closer."

The stormtrooper did as she was commanded, standing and stepping forward to the edge of the hologram. Kylo Ren was directly to her left, watching her.

The Supreme Leader did not appear satisfied.

"Closer."

Though he was not given to such strange abilities, Hux could still feel a sudden change in the room, as if all the air had rushed out. DV-7892 was suddenly dragged forward by an invisible force, before being lifted upward, leaving her to float in the air, seemingly unassisted, at eye level with the hologram.

At first, DV-7892 struggled, no doubt overcome with an urge to fight off whatever had gripped her – it was how she had been trained after all – but quickly the trooper came to terms with the inevitable and let her body go slack.

The helmet lifted from her head, falling to the ground with a shattering crack.

"Such a fascinating specimen."

"She is afraid."

Hux turned to Kylo Ren, who had since stood and was watching her form float above them, silhouetted by the lights of the projection.

He dare interfere…

"Fear is necessary in all that we do, Kylo Ren," Snoke chided, turning DV-7892 from side to side, observing. "Do not be so quick to dismiss it."

"Yes, Supreme Leader."

"Your trooper is indeed well-trained," Snoke admitted, lowering DV-7892 slowly. "But I am forced to wonder if you have denied this unit their full potential."

Halfway from the ground, the invisible force holding DV-7892 disappeared, dropping her. His trooper reacted in an instant, turning into the fall and rolling into a safe, seated position. From there, she returned to her kneeling position, breath heavier, but wordless.

"This unit is already more than capable of destroying our enemies. Any further abilities would be redundant."

"Perhaps. They will have the opportunity to prove themselves soon enough," Snoke said, glancing about the room. "Leave us."

The soldiers all knew who was being addressed. Kylo Ren's knights immediately made for the exit. DV-7892 rose from her position, moving to retrieve her helmet off the ground. When she stood, a sudden bolt of red crossed her path. Ren had activated his lightsaber and was holding it out before her, the chaotic nature of the thing sparking and hissing as it struggled to exist.

DV-7892 did not move. She did not look at Kylo Ren; she stared at the red of the saber, waiting.

He deactivated the weapon, allowing the stormtrooper to leave, her helmet tucked under her arm.

"The Resistance is growing in strength," Snoke said as the door shut. "Every day they grow more confident of their abilities. Though they are nothing in the face of our order, they must be kept in check. Skywalker must be found."

"The Knights of Ren have turned up nothing but rumor and superstition," Hux noted, watching Kylo Ren step beside him before the Supreme Leader. "Allow my squadron to locate the general."

"I may have given the barest praise to your little unit, but don't mistake that for trust, General," the Supreme Leader warned. "The Knights of Ren are tested and loyal. They will handle Luke Skywalker."

The hologram faded, bathing the room in darkness.

"You put too much faith in your child troops," Kylo Ren said as they exited the chamber. "My knights are far more powerful than your insignificant mind can imagine."

"As I seem to recall, it was troopers who eliminated the Jedi Order," Hux countered as they stepped into the hall. On one side stood the knights in their strange assortment of armor, each an individual, lacking in uniformity; on the other stood DV-7892, helmet still tucked under her arm, staring forward as she always did. "Perhaps you are the one with too much faith."

Kylo Ren stared at him, a brief moment of attempted intimidation, but the ridiculousness of his helmet reduced the affect. He'd seen the face beneath the mask; he wasn't impressed.

The knights walked away then, off to cause trouble in some distant part of the ship. Hux took the opposite route, listening as DV-7892's steps fell into sync with his.

Knight Squadron was what Kylo Ren failed at: a true representation of the First Order. Loyal, efficient, the steady presence in the chaos. His knights would fail him again, he would fail the Supreme Leader again, and Hux would be there, waiting. When Snoke finally cast him aside, he would be there to succeed, and to prove that the silly notion of the Force was as archaic and ruined as the practitioners who had died defending it.

* * *

_D'Qar_

There were times that Leia regretted choosing this system.

Her staff agreed it was the best choice available: isolated, but not far from friendly space, uninhabited by any sentient species putting collateral at a minimum, and was relatively unheard of by most. Not to mention the climate was more than agreeable. She couldn't imagine this group occupying a planet like Hoth.

It wasn't that they weren't capable – she trusted these men and women with her life – but many of them were young, eager, unaffected by this war for the most part. They did not know the Empire, or the kind of desperation that the Rebellion had been driven to while at the brink of annihilation. Hoth would seem cruel to them.

But when she looked across the lush landscape that served as a temporary home to the Resistance, Leia could not help but feel a pang of familiarity. There were no looming, ancient towers of a long forgotten race, yet at times, Leia felt as if she was back on Yavin 4. There were days she could have sworn she heard Chewbacca calling down the halls, or Luke chiding R2-D2.

Or Han…

Even Poe Dameron, who had been raised on Yavin 4, often spoke of the similarity between the two worlds. Sometimes, he said, he found himself looking for his old home, but only on the long days, the kind when he'd logged too many hours in the cockpit rather than his bed. They all seemed to be doing that as of late.

There was a terrifying repetition to it all. A nameless evil on the rise, a Republic too weak or unwilling to stop it, and her family caught in the middle of it all.

What was the point? she would find herself asking, late at night when the mantle of general came off and she was just Leia again. What was the purpose of losing so much just to find themselves here again?

That was when she felt the most vulnerable, a young princess again, who had just watched her world – and everyone she loved – disappear into the void of space.

But there were good times, worthwhile moments, years that warmed her, when she had a husband and a son that she loved beyond words, a brother she could rely on, a family again.

And despite the pain it caused her now, Leia would give up those moments for nothing.

The sound of someone climbing caught her attention.

A patch of curly, dark hair appeared from the hatch beside her, entering the lookout tower. It seemed she wasn't the only one who took solace in this particular spot.

"No need to tell the guard to take a break, Commander Dameron," Leia remarked as the wide-eyed pilot noticed her presence. "Seems I've already taken care of that for you."

He was still in his flight suit, a bright orange beacon against a sea of green. Black Squadron would have just come back from Lothal, chasing old rumors. No one had sent her a message regarding their return, so she assumed there was nothing more to say about it. Fruitless leads seemed to be the only thing they chased these days.

Poe smiled briefly. "So I've been found out."

"No," Leia replied with a shake of her head. "You're just not the only one who can appreciate the view."

And it was a stunning one.

The base itself – first constructed at the tail end of the Galactic Civil War – rested in the valley of a small mountain range, the peaks jutting toward the near constant cloudy atmosphere, the trees at the summits almost always covered in mist. When the sun set in the evening, the sight was always something to behold as the last light of the day refracted off the fog, giving the area an otherworldly glow. That was the view they found themselves taking in now.

A local bird flew by in the distance, casting a long shadow across the land.

"I used to love nights like this back home," Poe said, sounding wistful as he leaned against one of the tower walls and crossed his arms. "I'd sneak over to the old ruins and mess with the derelict equipment left behind, pretend I was General Dameron of the Rebellion."

He chuckled softly. "It wasn't so far off from the real thing. You were still there, telling me what to do."

Leia sighed, allowing herself a moment to relax. "When I was twelve, there was a festival being held in Aldera. I may have lost the privilege to attend the event, and I was very sour about the whole thing."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Poe watching her carefully, a small smile growing on his face. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken about home. It certainly hadn't been to anyone outside her small family, but the young pilot reminded her of so many in her life. He was a good kid, if a little brash, though hadn't they all been that way at some point?

"The night was warm, just like this one, and I could hear the sounds of music and laughter drift all the way up to my balcony, which was actually very impressive given how high my room was. I moaned about it for hours until my friend, Winter, finally gave in.

"You see, we were the same age, and nearly identical. All it took was a well-placed headdress and I was off to the festival, while Winter pretended I had fallen ill.

"We got caught, of course, but it was an exhilarating twenty minutes."

Poe began to laugh at that, shaking his head. That was the thing about every newer generation: they never believed that the one before was capable of doing anything they did. Perhaps it was better that way, but Leia didn't mind letting a story or two slip on occasion. Sometimes, she simply needed it.

Besides, she hadn't thought of Winter in…so long.

How she missed her.

It fell silent for a time. Together, they watched the sun dip below the horizon.

"We didn't find anything, General."

Leia sighed. "I know."

"That's not to say that there isn't anything to be found. Luke Skywalker is out there, and we'll-"

"It's okay, Poe," she replied, laying a hand on his shoulder. If there was one thing Poe had plenty to spare, it was passion, and while it was good at a time like this, she also worried for him. The highest heights meant the most dangerous of falls, and she had seen many a person broken over the years. "I know we'll find him."

The pilot nodded once, returning his gaze to the landscape. It grew dark quickly, with a few lights from their distant outposts peeking through the trees. She smelled rain on the wind.

Sometimes, in the calm like this, Leia thought she could feel something. Luke had trained her as best he could with the knowledge he had been given. Even after she had left the Jedi and his teachings, the Force remained with her, guiding her. She had been acutely aware of her son's emotions as he grew up – which had been as advantageous as it was detrimental – and could always tell when Luke was nearby. Han had been a bit more difficult – a characteristic he had been immensely proud of – but sometimes, she could feel him just as well.

But not now, she thought. She would reach out, and only feel emptiness on the other side.

"Things are about to change," Leia said aloud, briefly forgetting that she wasn't alone.

"Is that the Force everyone always talks about?" Poe asked.

"No. Experience."

* * *

So these first couple chapters are just to give a feel for Demo, and what her daily life has been. We'll see her interact with others soon enough.

Thanks for reading! Until next time!


	3. Chapter Two

Fun fact: I still love The Rise of Skywalker

So, I feel like this is a bit of an awkward chapter. Sort of me pushing two together, because on their own, I felt they weren't long enough, so forgive me for the pacing issue.

Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows!

Shall we?

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_The Finalizer  
__The Unknown Regions_

Sometimes, she dreamed.

There were fragments of images, words so muffled that they lost all form and meaning, and a feeling of warmth. None of them ever made sense, and by the time her eyes opened, she'd lost all interest in identifying their origin.

But the sound of laughter remained.

She would hear it on occasion, a light, airy thing echoing down the empty hallways or coming across her comms as she took flight into open space. It was always unexpected, and never failed to make her head turn in search for the source; it just felt so…real.

But that night, Demo's dreams had been as dark and silent as space itself. She woke before First Call, as she always did, with a clear mind and the same, silent determination that had been drilled into her since before she could remember.

Most stormtroopers were assigned to shared barracks, each receiving a single living pod that allowed enough space for them to sleep, while they shared a living space in between. Each room contained at least forty troopers at one time, eighty if the day and night shifts were combined. However, troopers of a certain rank or occupation were granted rooms. This allowed for a single bed with standing room, a personal refresher, and a closet. Knight Squadron shared a hallway with one another.

During required sleeping hours, the light switches were locked. Each room was lit with a dull, red light, dark enough to allow sleep but still enough to make sense of everything.

It was during this period that Demo would begin her day.

In the dark silence of her room, she would do push-ups and crunches on the floor, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, depending on what she felt inclined to work on. It cleared her mind, woke her body up, prepared her muscles for the day ahead. This was always the easy part.

When the lights came on and their doors unlocked, Demo was already in uniform: a deep black ensemble with red stripes on the pant legs and the arms. Her cap had the same saber patch from her flight suit. They were not wholly large distinctions from other units, but Knight Squadron were the only members of the First Order who still carried blaster rifles while in dress uniform. They were required to have them at all times, with very few exceptions; they were the same type as normal troopers, the new F-11Ds, but heavily modified, with a buttstock and an all-black coating. While in uniform, the pilots typically carried the rifles on their backs, though that did not seem to put the other members at ease.

When a member of Knight Squadron walked down the hallway, they usually found themselves unimpeded.

Following a tasteless breakfast in the mess hall – where the rest of Knight Squadron would catch up – the day would usually be filled with training, until a mission came in. Sometimes they went months on end without one, but they would always be ready.

On the easiest of days, there were sessions on new models of starships and blasters, and how they could be used to their advantage, but these were rare. Most training involved physicality. Obstacle courses, blaster training runs, flight training.

That particular day was for combatives, and while her squad mates fought one another in the training room, Demo squared off against a different foe.

Captain Phasma had nearly a foot advantage over Demo. She was larger, stronger, and about as stubborn as they came, but Demo had speed, agility, and patience on her side.

They circled one another on the floor, neither in their usual uniforms; they wore exercise attire, black tanks and shorts. Demo's hands and feet were wrapped.

It was a private sparring session for that reason. To see their captain so exposed might have been considered bad for her leadership. Also the potential for her loss. They just about broke even, Demo and Phasma, though most matches were halted before they could properly conclude. Neither individual knew what the other was like when pushed to the very brink. That was always what determined how a person truly was.

Demo twirled the long staff in her hands, getting a feel for the weight and balance. It was always the same weapon, had been for the last six years, but she always checked. She checked her weapons, her clothes, her room at night. There was always the possibility for change, and change was deadly.

Her eyes never left Phasma, dark gaze lingering on blue. She was looking for a sign, a sudden widening of the pupils, a twitch of the mouth, a grip that grew tighter. Phasma, as she predicted, was an eager fighter. The chromium of her armor may have reflected status among the stormtroopers, but Demo had always believed it was for pride, a need for attention, the sort of thing she could do without. Pride was the bane of patience, so all she needed to do was wait, and the captain would come to her.

She circled again, feeling the light mats beneath her toes, listening to the echoes of her squad mates fighting, and beyond that, the distant whir of recycled air churning through the ventilation, and then she drowned it out. There was nothing, only Phasma.

And there it was, a shift of her foot, so subtle in nature that it wouldn't register to most, but the small things were what she noticed above all.

Phasma launched forward, swinging her staff hard and to the left, ready to take her down in one hit, but Demo was too quick. She ducked and rolled within the captain's guard, whipping her staff out to make a clean sweep of her legs. But Phasma moved faster than she anticipated, bringing her staff down in an under swing, forcing Demo to go on the defensive.

The staffs collided with a piercing _thwack_ that silenced the others in the room; the vibrations shot through both of Demo's arms, but she kept her grip tight, watching as Phasma's staff slid slightly back and forth between her hands.

She looked up at the captain, watching her eyes, gauging her reaction.

In a split second, she decided.

Demo released her right hand, ducking to the left and back within Phasma's guard. The sudden shift made the captain lose her balance, as all her power had been laid into her staff. She fell forward, one hand catching herself on the ground, and in that second, Demo swung her leg out. Phasma's staff clattered across the ground as Demo rolled back out of her reach, crouching directly between the staff and the captain, her own held out, ready to defend.

Phasma watched her, clearly angered by how quickly she got through to her.

It was pathetic.

Demo stood then, taking her staff and pointing to Phasma's on the ground.

"Pick it up."

The men were watching now. They didn't cheer; they didn't show any outward emotion. All they did was observe, neutral, impartial, gauging. The other stormtroopers tended to cheer one another on, but not Knight Squadron. If a soldier couldn't perform on their own, then they did not deserve to be backed up.

"I don't need your charity," Phasma hissed, standing back up.

"Winning easily defeats the purpose of training," Demo replied. "Pick it up."

She backed away as Phasma gave in, reaching out for her staff. Almost immediately, she attempted a low sweep, but Demo had anticipated that move and blocked it easily.

They continued on. Their staffs clashed again and again, echoing across the room. Phasma shouted and grunted, attempting again and again to take Demo down with one firm hit, but the pilot knew better. She spent more time on the ground than most would have, keeping the captain's balance always slightly off, making her work for it.

She'd gotten Phasma on the ground once and attempted to incapacitate her, but the captain proved to have a stamina as large as her frame, and Demo found herself nearly tossed across the mat, saved only by her staff cutting into the fabric and slowing her into place.

They clashed for nearly an hour, both covered in sweat and burgeoning bruises. There were gashes on their knuckles and cuts on the exposed parts of their feet. Phasma had taken a nasty hit to the stomach, but Demo had received a cut on her eyebrow. It bled into her shirt.

And yet, they continued.

On and on, Demo could have gone. The ache in her muscles was exhilarating, the pulsing above her eye a testament to how much further she had to improve. Once she had been a child on these mats, knocked down again and again by her betters. Her arms and legs had been broken numerous times, her face gashed beyond count. Her blood covered the floors and the walls. This place was as much a part of her as she was of it.

It only ended when Demo managed to knock Phasma back to the ground. She put her knee in the captain's stomach and raised the end of her staff to her eye. Part of her was disappointed when the woman surrendered.

Demo did not help her up, as Phasma would not help her. They went their separate ways without another word, although she suspected a glance or two may have been thrown in her direction.

Taking a brief moment to clean up, Demo returned to her squad mates, and continued her practice sessions.

She ate lunch, she ate dinner, and went to work on her TIE. Each pilot maintained their ships as their gunners maintained the cannons. No one else was trusted to work on their ships; no one else was allowed to touch them under threat of the strictest of punishments.

Night, or its equivalent, came and Demo would find herself in her room again, staring at the same red light. She would clean what needed to be cleaned, stretch what needed to be stretched, and move to her bed for the six hours of sleep they were allotted.

That night, she dreamed. There were mountains in this dream, and fields of yellow grass stretching as far as the horizon.

And there was laughter.

There was always laughter.

* * *

_Canto Bight  
__Outer Rim Territories_

Zel Di thought of himself as a pragmatic Duros. He had to be. Life hadn't dealt him the best hand, and to get to where he was now, he had to crawl through the deepest pits of refuse and scum. And he rather liked staying where he was now.

During the Empire, he had been sold as a slave, working in the spice mines. He could still smell it some nights, the scent burning the back of his throat, making him cough and wheeze despite thirty years of clean air.

Time had proven him unreliable to his fellow slaves. He'd found himself in charge of them before the war's end, and when their mines were liberated, he found himself on one of a dozen ships taking the people to another world.

Only his ship 'disappeared.'

They were the first slaves he ever sold, and they were far from the last.

Where once he had been spat upon and beaten by those who thought themselves his betters, Zel was now at the height of his career. The Empire may have been gone, but the New Republic was hardly a shining beacon of stability and order. Cracks remained, fragments of the old days. There were far too many hands that had been greased during the reign of the Emperor, too many people used to the comforts of moral bankruptcy. The Rebels thought they had brought an end to the reign of terror, but they had merely closed their eyes, covered the filth with a pretty façade.

They forgot that foul things always thrived in the darkness.

Zel watched the fathiers race around the track, their calls chased by the sounds of applause and shouting from the stands below. He had a private viewing box. It wasn't that he enjoyed the sport – it was made for those who hadn't a mind for sport or basic work – but the box provided privacy and the sort of loftiness that his clients had come to depend upon. Dirty work had to appear clean to these upper-class types.

But he never dressed up for them. He had more power – and perhaps more money – than half the occupants in the casino city, but Zel always preferred the comfort of a sturdy work outfit. His money was spent on other things: ships, politicians, the occasional Twi'lek.

Plus, he enjoyed the incredulous looks on his clients faces when they walked into the box and found what appeared to be no more than space trash dirtying the luxurious seats. There was the perception of power, and then there was the possession of it. He held the latter.

Today, however, he had no meetings, no men or women to intimidate. He was simply waiting.

Despite the amount of time it had taken to cultivate his power, Zel had patience for nothing. He watched the races with a tight fist, and a hand that consistently played with the safety on his blaster.

_Click. _

_Click. _

_Click._

Eventually, there were footsteps from behind, heavy and labored. He heard the sound of someone struggling, the classic small grunts that came from a prisoner that had no chance of escaping, but their mind would never let them submit. They always made the best workers.

"About time you showed up," Zel said, swinging his legs off the rail and standing. "You'd think I sent a bunch of green – what the kark is all this?"

Two of his men, both humans who were large in frame and small in mind, tossed down a boy. His mouth was gagged, and an inhibitor collar had been placed around his neck. He crashed to the ground, unable to get up, his arms and legs bound as well.

His men were bloody, beaten, and looked ready to fall over with the next breeze. They were alone, and he'd sent six out – a slave uprising. They were infrequent enough, and solved easily – usually. There were always more replacements out in the galaxy.

"Where are the others?" he continued, looking down at the boy. Bright eyes glanced up at him, defiant but still clearly frightened. Zel rested his boot next to his face.

"Gone," the right one, Yuran, said. "Nex was killed by one of the slaves, and the others…"

His gaze fell to the boy.

Zel stepped forward, glaring at both men. "I sent you to take care of the problem permanently. You could have done so without leaving your ship, but you sith for brains decided to indulge yourselves. My crew is not a band of mercs. Jeopardize my investments with your fondness for killing again, and I'll make you my next auctioning highlight."

He grabbed the boy by his arm, yanking him up until he stood on his own. "Why bring this one? I told you to take care of all of them."

"He killed them," Yuran continued. "Killed the others without touching them."

"We thought he might be worth something," the other said.

Zel looked at the boy – who appeared completely harmless and weak by any standard – and thought on it. His men may have been dumb, but they were stubborn too, took hits like their skin was folded durasteel. If this boy made them nervous, it meant something.

He remembered his youth, and tales of a man called Skywalker, and of those before him, the order of Jedi he had heard someone preach to him when he was younger than the boy before him. Some claimed they had strange power – some claimed they were like gods.

Zel didn't care for their claims, but he did care about what those claims brought him. Legends were worth money, and he knew the exact people who looked for those sort of legends.

The First Order, after all, was his favorite client.

* * *

_The Finalizer  
__The Unknown Regions_

General Hux could not help but smile to himself as he watched the holo that had been transmitted to him. Normally, there were proper channels to go through – no lowly slave trader was to ever contact him directly – but the images playing before him made him reconsider doling out punishment.

It gave him an idea.

Supreme Leader Snoke was indeed a purveyor of this Force that the Jedi of old used, although he did not parade it, and he certainly had a practicality when it came to all things military. He did not indoctrinate them on the subject or display its flashy gimmicks every chance given. Rather, it seemed a more personal fascination. Kylo Ren, on the other hand, would replace every one of his troops with a lightsaber wielding freak if it gave him an edge.

This boy, however, might prove to be his undoing.

He was powerful, and he was young, a mind fit to be molded like their stormtroopers were. If Snoke found a new favorite pet, one that he himself could equally have a hand in training, the First Order would be snuggly in the palm of his hand, rather than a scrap to be fought over.

"He's impressive," Hux said, shutting down the hologram.

"It's disturbing," Captain Phasma replied. She stood across from him, blaster at the ready as always. Though he could not see through that chrome helmet of hers, the general knew she was frowning, though she wasn't exactly capable of smiling, an excellent trait amongst his officers.

"Of course, nothing like that has a place in our ranks, but there is potential," Hux said as he stood, walking around his desk, hands tucked neatly behind his back. It was an old habit of his, instilled in him by his father. Some things never died, even when the people were long gone. "Knight Squadron will escort the boy here, and then I want your men prepared to take custody of him."

"Are you certain they can be trusted to handle the task, sir?" she asked, her attempted tone of neutrality an utter failure.

"They can at least be trusted to be subtle," Hux replied, looking her uniform up and down. When had he approved that armor anyway? "Don't allow your misguided jealousy toward DV-7892 to get in the way, Captain."

"Sir."

Captain Phasma stepped away then, turning toward the door in time for DV-7892 to step through them. For a brief moment, he believed something might take place, but he'd heard they'd been at one another earlier. Perhaps another time then.

He'd give them a solid minute before intervening. He was curious.

DV-7892 came to attention before him, dark eyes emotionless as always. They were a better mask than Phasma's helmet.

"General."

He watched her a moment before nodding satisfactorily. "I have an assignment for Knight Squadron."

* * *

_Canto Bight  
__Outer Rim Territories_

The mission was simple: escort the target to Canto Bight, act as his personal guard as he acquired the package, and then escort the package back to the _Finalizer_. It was so simple, Demo briefly considered why their unit was being designated to such a mundane task. But General Hux ordered the mission, and they would follow it to the letter. There was no other way to proceed.

The target was a senator from Hosnian Prime, Kaid Dexshi, a supporter of the First Order and known frequenter of the casino city. His ship had rendezvoused with theirs on the outskirts of the city, in the rolling dunes that covered most of Cantonica. The sun had already set, cooling the air rapidly as a rough wind sent a chill up Demo's spine. But she did not allow it to outwardly affect her.

"I am a member of the senate!" Kaid shouted over the prevailing wind, gesticulating rapidly toward his assistant, an Aqualish who was typing away at a datapad. "I am the reason the Republic hasn't up and gutted the First Order where it stands. They owe _me _and yet here I am doing errands for them, risking _my _reputation. The general better have a good reason for bringing me out here to…"

His tirade cut off as he faced down Knight Squadron. It was just the four of them, dressed in dark blue uniforms typical of Dexshi's security detail. Demo rarely met anyone outside the First Order without her helmet on, and was admittedly chafing at the fact that this childish senator was looking at her face to face. Gunner stood just to her left, his short, blonde hair blowing slightly in the wind. Fuse and Seven stood behind them, both with no hair to speak of.

"Well, let me guess, the general isn't here," the senator huffed, hands on his hips. It made his stomach stick out further. He clearly benefited from his good reputation in the Republic. "What about your commander?"

"I am the commander of Knight Squadron," Demo said, stepping forward. The others came to attention at her movement.

The Aqualish looked up briefly.

"No, you're a puppet," Kaid Dexshi replied, pointing at her. He stood nearly a foot taller, yet wavered in the breeze. She smelled alcohol. "I want an actual officer, with thoughts and opinions, not some mindless drones."

"Is there something about the mission that you do not understand, Senator?"

"No, the general was very clear. He-"

"Then there is no need to speak with our superior officer."

Had it been lighter out, Demo probably would have seen the man's face turn red. Perhaps she had insulted him; perhaps he simply could not handle the truth put so blatantly. Either way, it did not matter to her. They had a mission to complete and every second spent catering to his complaints was another potential moment of failure.

He prattled on a little while longer anyway, complaining about how the Empire would have never treated him in such a way. She only tolerated his insubordination out of respect to her own orders. Escorting the senator meant they went wherever he did, and if he meant to dither in the sands of Catonica, then that was where they would remain, however ill-suited to the mission it was.

Eventually, he sighed and fell silent, a telltale sign that a decision had been made. He squared up with Demo, giving her a firm onceover, before doing the same to Gunner; he barely bothered acknowledging the others.

"You two only," Kaid ground out. "I don't need to walk into Canto Bight with a personal army."

Demo nodded once, turning to Fuse and Seven. "Put both ships in orbit."

Both troopers nodded, each turning to a ship. While the set up called for a pilot and a gunner, the TIEs could be reconfigured to give the pilot control over both. It was useful when necessary, but time had proven having one person assigned to one aspect of the ship was more efficient; it resulted in more kills and less ship damage.

Demo and Gunner followed the senator into his ship, a small but luxurious cruiser with sleek lines and an obscenely golden hull. The interior was no less gaudy, bright and covered with fine art. Cushioned seats lined the outer areas, while a small holo at the center played a local Nuna-ball match. A small bar was located near the door to the cockpit – where the Aqualish disappeared to – which the senator had clearly used already.

"Both of you, sit," Kaid commanded, making his way to the bar. "You stand around like that, you're liable to make me nervous."

They did as told, both sitting next to one another on a small couch. The white leather groaned under their weight.

The ship took off not long after.

It was a quiet, short journey to the casino area. The senator did his best to ignore them, and they paid him little attention. Gunner had tapped his fingers on her knee once, spelling out a short sentence in their code.

'_The First Order does not need him.'_

'_Only for now,' _had been her reply.

Canto Bight was a cacophony of fake laughter and shrill conversation. Kaid wound them through the crowds with practiced ease, taking them past gambling dens and a number of bars. Each area felt no different than the last, filled to the brim with aliens that eyed her and Gunner like they were the dirt beneath their feet.

Demo's hand was itching to reach for the blaster pistol at her hip – a luxury the local officials had granted them out of courtesy to their slightly fatter pockets. There was too much noise, too many distractions. It was the perfect opportunity for something to go wrong. Had it been the general she was escorting, she would have cleared the building out before he even stepped inside, but the fact that he was not the one here was the only thing keeping her hand in place.

They made their way to an observation deck over a racetrack. Demo briefly glanced some creatures running around – fathiers if memory served – to the sounds of shouting below. The box they approached was silent, occupied by a single Duros. Two guards stood just down the walkway, eying them.

Kaid entered the box and sat next to the Duros in question, while Demo and Gunner remained standing, squaring off with the guards. They looked like typical pirate scum, unsuited to the life they had just walked through in the casino. There was an arrogant air to the duo, but at least they remained silent.

The Duros began to chuckle.

"Using senators as errand boys. I have to admit, I like the First Order's style."

"I'm not here for small talk."

"And I'm not here to cater to you Republic types," the Duros replied, standing and looking down at the senator. "Look around, Senator, we're all equals here. Just some of us aren't in denial about it."

The Duros walked out of the box then, stepping in front of Demo. She stared forward, as she always did, but got the distinct impression that she was being measured.

"These are fine specimens," the Duros observed, moving on to Gunner. "Young, strong, intimidating. They'd sell for higher than anything I have in stock."

"They aren't for sale, Zel," Kaid replied, sounding annoyed. He, too, climbed out of the box and stood next to the dealer.

"Of course they aren't. They're not yours to sell," Zel said, looking to the senator. "You think I don't know First Order stock when I see them? It's the dull look in the eyes that gives it away. That is the look of pure obedience. It's better than any slave. They aren't forced to suffer; they are made to think they want it."

The Duros chuckled again, bending to her height so they could look eye to eye. "Doesn't matter that I've told them any of that. They can process the words, and yet it doesn't register to them at all. There are droids with more defiance."

Demo watched Zel step away, fingering a death stick he'd taken from his pocket. "If your First Order can do that to this cargo, you've got quite a weapon on your hands."

Kaid looked between the two, uncomfortable. "The First Order is offering one million credits to-"

"I know what they're offering," Zel said, cutting him off. "The deal has already been made, credits transferred. This was only meant to be a pick up. Looks like you've made someone angry, errand boy."

That shut the senator up. His mouth formed a thin line, hands balling into fists. They would undoubtedly hear more of his complaints on the way back.

Zel produced a small card, holding it out to Kaid. The senator stared at it for a long time before snatching it quickly, his anger and embarrassment evident.

"Cargo's already being loaded onto your ship. Keycard will get you into the container," Zel said, leaning down. "If I were you, I wouldn't open it until you're clear of the system."

The senator huffed, turning away. Demo and Gunner stepped aside to let him pass between them before turning about and following.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Senator Dexshi!" the Duros shouted, no doubt making certain someone, somewhere heard the remark. Demo watched their target bristle.

It was a remarkably shorter trip back to the ship. The events that had just unfolded, as brief as they had been, had clearly taken a toll on the senator. He barely spoke to anyone that they passed, snapping at any catering staff that happened to get in the way. Occasionally, Demo could hear the man muttering something under his breath.

The senator's ship was hardly the only one on the landing platform. Luxurious spacecraft from all over the galaxy where parked on the large permacrete surface. It was hardly empty either. There were a few aliens about, each taking the time to show off their craft to one another, bragging about the statistics of their latest purchase, yet no one paid them any mind as they walked by. Canto Bight made it a business to both know everything and nothing at the same time.

Standing at the end of the loading ramp, the Aqualish was nervously tapping its fingers together. It waddled up quickly to the senator, speaking rapidly in its language.

"What do you mean the landing gear is malfunctioning? We've already landed!" the senator shouted. His aid made a few more gestures, voice higher. "Alright. Yes, yes, fine. You, go with this idiot and help fix the damn thing."

Kaid had pointed to Gunner, either assuming he was stronger or better able to work with the ship. He looked to Demo for confirmation and she nodded. She knew he could take care of whatever problem they had.

Demo followed the senator back into his ship, noting the large, dark crate that was now sitting in the center of the room. It was made of durasteel, and had the smallest of openings to allow for air. Otherwise, there was no way to see inside. She watched it for a moment as the senator went on a rant about how they'd dragged dirt into the ship.

She wondered what sort of cargo it was.

"That Duros is going to find he's not as powerful as he thinks. That kriffing piece of space scum is going to wish he'd stayed in the hole he crawled out of," Kaid ranted, turning back to her. Demo put her eyes back forward, but was clearly caught. "So there is a bit of life in there. Well, why not, I'm curious too. Let's see what General Hux has me running around the galaxy for."

Demo was about to caution him against it, given his actions directly affected her mission, but Kaid had already taken his keycard and swiped it across the small control panel. Something beeped and the lid unlatched, sliding backward automatically.

Scared, hazel eyes looked up at her.

Demo blinked.

"A child!" the senator shouted. "They sent me all the way out here for a child!"

"_They sent us all the way out here for a child!?"_

Demo stepped back, as if physically smacked by the voice in her mind.

She blinked, and suddenly she was no longer on the ship, but in a small home…

_The stormtroopers looked down at her, their armor once white and pristine now worn and browning, the edges chipping off. She should have been afraid – maybe she was already – but she wouldn't run. She couldn't. She was too busy shaking the shoulder of the woman on the floor. Her blue eyes were lifeless. A blaster wound smoldered in her chest._

"_Mama!" she cried out, shaking hard. "Get up!"_

_Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her up with a force that pained her shoulder. _

"_Mama!"_

_The woman never moved, and soon she was gone from her sight._

"_MAMA!" _

_She hit the stormtrooper, again and again, until he finally hit back…_

Demo unholstered her blaster pistol, leveling it on the senator. He never got the chance to cry out as she fired, striking him in the chest. He fell over a chair, dead.

She didn't move. Her blaster remained in place, pointing at the beings in her memories. Her breath was hard, eyes wide. She could feel a tear falling slowly down her face.

What had she done?

What was happening?

"_Trin,"_ whispered a voice in her mind. It belonged to the woman, the woman with blue eyes bright as the sky, no longer dead, but scared. _"Run."_

* * *

I hope that all made sense to everyone. If you have any questions regarding anything, feel free to ask!

Thanks for reading! Until next time!


	4. Chapter Three

This took longer than I'd hoped. Apologies.

Also I'm like dead tired right now so sorry if this is short. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, and read! I shall get to you all, I promise!

Shall we?

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Canto Bight  
__Outer Rim Territories_

_Blue eyes, wide and frightened, stared at her. The woman reached for the kitchen drawer, producing a small blaster pistol. _

"_Mama…"_

_She was scared. Why was she so scared?_

_The woman grasped her shoulders. "Trin, you need to listen to me. I need you to run. Go out your window and into the field, and don't stop. Don't stop running no matter what."_

_She nodded and fled the room, running down the hall to where her bedroom was. Her small feet almost tripped on a discarded toy. _

_Pushing her door open, she found a stormtrooper already in her room, with another crawling through her window. _

_She screamed._

"_Get away from her!"_

_The stormtrooper fell, pushed back by some unseen force. The woman fired a single shot in the direction of the other trooper before he fired through the window and struck her in the chest. _

_And then she fell. _

"_Mama!"_

_With her dying breath, the woman reached out to her._

"_Trin…run."_

* * *

Demo bolted for the landing ramp, mind no longer in control. She was motivated purely by survival instinct, and at that moment it was telling her that if she did not leave the planet, she would die.

Just as she reached the opening, Gunner appeared, Dexshi's cowering assistant behind him. His blaster was already drawn, but his eyes focused on the one in her hands.

He lifted the blaster slightly.

"Commander?"

She hesitated.

Her hand slammed against the lift button, retracting the ramp. Gunner had plenty of time to enter the ship, yet all he did was stare at her, too shocked to react. When the Aqualish made a move to get onboard, Demo pointed her blaster at them. In reply, Gunner finally leveled his on her. He had plenty of opportunity, and they both knew he could shoot her well before she had the chance – he could have ended the madness right there and then.

_Do it, Gunner._

_Do it. _

_Shoot me._

Gunner, however, did nothing, and then he was gone.

The ramp had closed.

Demo took a breath.

_Don't move._

_Don't move._

_Do. Not. Move._

She ran to the cockpit, mind disengaging from everything. Her hands ran up and down the control panel of their own accord, quickly adjusting the instruments of the ship and rapidly going through all the pre-flight checks until the engine roared to life.

Only then did a single blaster bolt bounce off the exterior.

Demo looked outside. Had the pane of transparisteel not been there, Gunner would have certainly hit her head. He was watching her, snapped from his shock, still confused but with a growing anger. It was a warning; it demanded she stop before she did any more damage.

But she was no longer in control. Something else was, and that something else launched the ship and took it out of the atmosphere. That something had her fly directly past the two TIEs in orbit, even as they attempted to make contact. That something put coordinates into the nav computer and jumped her to lightspeed.

She stared at the blue vortex of hyperspace, winding its way around as the ship careened through space and time to a destination she was unaware of. Demo knew she ought to check. There were a lot of things she ought to do, but she couldn't. She couldn't move, couldn't speak or think; she only stared.

"I'm Galen by the-"

Her instincts roared to life. Demo twisted around in the pilot's seat, pointing her blaster at the source of the voice. The muzzle of her pistol rested mere inches from the forehead of the young boy. The only thing keeping her from firing were the same instincts that had told her to draw on him. He was no immediate threat. Not yet.

"-way."

He appeared shocked, eyes widening at her reaction, but the boy was not afraid. In fact, he was under far less duress than he had been moments earlier. She could kill him, and yet he did not seem to mind.

Demo didn't move for a moment. She wasn't sure what to do. Her orders were to return the cargo – this boy – to The Finalizer, and his being free contradicted those orders. But she had already disobeyed and her orders no longer applied. And yet the idea of him simply being there did not sit well with her.

"Do you think you could maybe point that somewhere else?" the boy asked, his bright eyes looking at her around the pistol, making them slightly crossed. "The last guy you did that to isn't doing so well."

She lowered the blaster, stepping away from the pilot's seat and the boy into the main body of the ship. Kaid's body was still on the floor, his eyes unfocused, clothes and body settling. She stopped and watched it a moment. Some part of her, perhaps, was hoping he'd disappear or suddenly be alive, and then this entire nightmare of a scenario could be at its conclusion. Perhaps some irrational part of her feared he might somehow return from the dead, although the shot at that proximity would kill a Wookiee, let alone a human.

No, Kaid Dexshi was dead, and she was on the run.

Demo began to pace. Back and forth and back and forth she went, unable to get her thoughts under control, unable to shake the emotions coursing in her. She was angry, confused, and overwhelmed with this sense of dread that was making her hands begin to shake.

She needed to get out, but they were deep in space. This was her cage, and its walls were closing in.

Maybe she ought to just override the locking mechanisms and sheer the ship in two. That would solve all her problems. She disobeyed and was punished accordingly.

No. No, she could not do that. The First Order dictated what would be done with her. Taking her life into her own hands was explicitly forbidden. No weaponry would be disposed of unless dictated otherwise.

But she had already taken her life from their control. She was gone. She'd left Canto Bight alone, with the cargo, and had failed the mission.

Failed.

She'd failed.

Why didn't she just stay?

Why wouldn't those blue eyes go away?

"Hey!"

Startled, she pointed her blaster at the source of the sound. It was the boy, again, and he did not look impressed by the repeated effort. Still unafraid, he walked straight up to her and attempted to grab her wrist.

"Would you stop pointing that at-"

The instant his skin made contact with hers, her free hand grasped his wrist, tightly, and wrenched his arm away from her. She did not break anything, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

"Do not touch me."

That only seemed to spark his curiosity.

"So you do talk!" he shouted, wriggling free. He smiled as he looked up at her. She did not know why. "I was starting to think you were an android or something."

She looked at him, _really _looked at him, and wondered what the First Order could possibly want with him. This was a task directed from General Hux himself, after all. He did not appear to be of much value, no more so than any of the other young recruits that were brought in. His clothes were dirty and worn, he was thinner than a boy his age should be, aside from the bright spark in his eyes that came from the lack of training, there was nothing particularly different about him.

Recruits were never brought directly to the General. He observed their training on occasion, but it took years of qualifications before he took any particular interest in individuals. She had trained for ten years before being singled out for advanced techniques, and another ten before General Hux personally addressed her.

What could he want with this boy?

And why did he wear an inhibitor collar?

Built for a multitude of purposes, they could be supplied with any number of chemicals or commands. Some put the bearer to sleep, others were programmed to kill them immediately. She could not say what his did.

No other recruit she had ever witnessed bore one.

The boy in question scrunched his face at her intense gaze. "I think I preferred it when you were pointing the blaster at me."

She blinked and stepped away, sitting on the couch she and Gunner had occupied maybe an hour earlier, her head buried deeply in her hands.

Why did it matter what the general wanted with him? The boy was as lost to him as she was to anything else.

It was quiet for a while.

"So…what's your name?"

She ignored him, focusing on the blue eyes that kept staring at her every time she shut hers.

Who was this woman? And why did seeing her make her chest constrict?

"I gave you my name. It's only fair that I get yours."

_Mama._

Mama. What was that? Mother? She did not have one; she was a trooper. Her family were the troopers to her left and right.

But she didn't have any beside her now.

"I mean, unless you don't have a name, which is okay, I guess. I mean, I didn't have one for the longest time…"

_Trin._

No, that wasn't her name. Trin belonged to a little girl, a girl who was weak and couldn't fight. She wasn't weak; she hadn't been weak in years.

"…and then Old Mara told me to think of one because she was sick of shouting 'hey kid,' cause it turns out even the kids with names would answer to it, even though she only ever called for me and…"

But she _was _weak. Weak and disobedient.

If General Hux could lose one of his top soldiers, what did that mean for the First Order?

What had she done?

"…something against me because I was not the only kid who set the hut on fire. Hey, are you alright?"

Once again, the boy touched her, his hand just grazing her hair.

Demo reacted instantly, grabbing the arm that touched her. In one swift movement, she sat up, gripped the boy under his shoulder, and flipped him onto the couch. It wasn't enough to hurt him – part of her still obeyed the order demanding the cargo remain intact – but it shook the boy up and got him to be quiet.

"I said do not touch me!" she shouted, holding the boy down with her arm across his chest. His cheery personality faded then, and he looked ready to cry.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted, searching her eyes, for what she didn't know. "I didn't mean to…I mean…you saved me and I-"

"I didn't save you," Demo replied, releasing the boy and stepping away. She looked back to Kaid Dexshi. A missing senator might prove problematic, but she knew the First Order kept their ties loose and nearly untraceable. If anyone started poking where they shouldn't, the clean up would be swift and merciless.

She heard the couch groan as the boy sat up. "Sure you did! I mean, Zel sold me to this sleemo, and you shot him. And then you flew us out of that place! Sounds like a rescue to me."

"I wasn't supposed to shoot him."

There was a pause.

"What?"

Demo did not know why she was explaining herself to the child. Perhaps she did not like the idea that he implied she had done it all on purpose. She had not, after all; she was not herself. The woman with the blue eyes. It was all her fault.

She turned to him. "My mission was to bring you to my superior officer. Senator Dexshi was the means of attaining you from Zel Di."

"But you shot him."

"I did not mean to."

His lip quivered. He looked like some sad, small thing.

"So why did you shoot him?"

_Mama!_

"I don't know," Demo replied, only half-lying. "But it wasn't for you."

The child huffed, looking away from her. He stared at the body, looked around the cabin space, and began to pace just as she had. She watched as he did so, not particularly invested, but his outrage distracted her from her own internal conflict. He'd put a lot of stock into her being his potential savior. It was foolish of him to openly trust someone so quickly. But he was lucky, in a way. She'd learned her lessons in a far more painful way.

"Well, I'm not going back!" he shouted after a while, turning back and storming right up to her. He stood just short of her shoulders. "And neither are you, right? You weren't supposed to shoot that sleemo, which means you're on the run, just like me."

She didn't have an answer for that.

Now that she'd had a moment to breathe, the child's panic bringing her mind back into focus, it was very clear to Demo that she needed to follow through with her orders. Situations changed all the time, and she had been trained to react and reassess as needed. Never mind that the scenarios never called for her personal abandonment of orders.

She should have never panicked. Failure or not, her orders still stood; she needed to return the cargo to _The Finalizer _as instructed. Severe punishment would follow, if not death, but that was the price for incompetence.

The word made her throat constrict.

Without answering him, Demo returned to the cockpit and finally confirmed the coordinates they were heading toward.

Thand Sector. Kafrene.

A suitable place to lay low. Out of the way of most major hyperspace routes and a relatively obscure location, but outfitted with everything one would have needed to make a clean getaway: ships, illegal weapons, dealers and gangs of all sorts who were always short on help. However, there was a small First Order outpost there, an auxiliary unit, tasked with ensuring the mines still in operation stayed that way.

She'd known.

There were dozens of systems within reach that the First Order did not currently occupy. Demo could have chosen any one of those, but even in her frantic state, she had managed to set the ship on course to somewhere familiar, giving herself a second chance.

She turned around to find the boy staring at her again from just outside the doorway. He didn't speak, but it was obvious he, too, was curious about their destination.

Demo stood. "We are heading for the Ring of Kafrene. I will turn myself into the local outpost and you will continue on to my superior officer."

"No!" he shouted, running forward and attempting to hit her, but Demo grabbed his wrists before he had an opportunity to land a single punch, leaving the boy to simply struggle in her grasp. "No! No! Please! I just want to go home!"

"That is not an option."

For either of them.

* * *

_D'Qar_

C-3PO had done quite a few things over the years that many would consider unusual for a droid of his make and model. He had assisted the Rebellion, worked for a gangster Hutt, even pretended to be a god for Ewoks, and what a distressful time all of those occupations had been. There were even rumors from older members during the Rebellion that insisted he had done even more outlandish things prior to the Empire, but as his databanks had been wiped of any memory prior to Empire Day, 3PO was satisfied in the knowledge that it was lost to him forever.

But now, he did believe his current role in the Resistance may have topped everything he had done thus far.

Spy Master.

Or rather, intel keeper. But the Resistance troopers preferred the flourish of the former title. He wasn't really spying after all. Just asking a droid or two – or a couple hundred – what they saw and heard on a daily basis.

The thing with organic species was that they tended to overlook droids. They used them when they believed they needed them, and that was that. Most never even considered what information the droids might hold, or where their loyalties might actually lie.

Well, most droids didn't have the functionality to choose a particular side, but a few lines of code here and there did the trick.

C-3PO paused in his journey, realizing he rewrote the programming of his fellow droids – like rewriting the DNA of a living being – as if it were nothing to him.

Perhaps he was cut out for this rebel business after all.

He continued through the subterranean levels of the D'Qar base, searching for Princ – General Organa.

Honestly, he wasn't sure why his circuitry just couldn't get down the fact that he had to call her general now. It wasn't as if he couldn't just change the input code, and yet it remained. Perhaps it was an attachment.

What was the word?

Nostalgia.

"Excuse me," 3PO said, brushing by an officer. None of them ever paid him much attention. It wasn't as if he was difficult to see – he was golden after all – and yet they consistently bumped into him. He really ought to be offended by the whole thing. "Excuse me. Lieutenant! Lieutenant Connix!"

The young officer – who had once been walking directly toward him – stopped in her tracks and turned around.

The rudeness of humans never failed to surprise him.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant, I have a message for the general!"

Connix stopped, allowing him to catch up to her. "She's busy, Threepio."

"It is of utmost importance! The First Order has-"

Eyes widening, Connix slapped her hand across his audio output unit – although he supposed mouth as simply shorter – and pushed him out of the room. Given his joints weren't made for proper motion, he nearly feel over several times before Connix shoved him into a wall.

"Well, I ne-"

"Ssshhh," Connix shushed, placing a finger over her mouth as most people seemed to do around him. "For a droid whose specialty is collecting intelligence, you sure don't know how to keep your mouth shut."

"I am merely fulfilling my programming. I wasn't aware that any information I possess was not to be discussed with other members of the Resistance, the command team in particular."

"Well, I'm making you aware now. Come with me."

He followed the lieutenant down the winding hall until they approached a small storage room. A large root cut across the wall, but no one had the heart to cut through it, so they simply built shelving around it. General Organa sat inside on a small canister, staring at…well, nothing. She did that quite frequently in recent years.

"General," Connix said, gaining Leia's attention. "I think Threepio has something to tell you. Better now than after he tells it to all the Resistance."

3PO looked between the two women. "No one told me that members of the Resistance weren't privileged to my information."

Leia sighed. "And that's on me, Threepio. Thank you, Lieutenant Connix."

The young woman nodded once and left the room, making certain the door closed behind her.

Standing, Leia shook her head. "It's not that I don't trst them, Threepio. I don't believe there are any spies amongst us, but things have been quiet as of late, and quiet means boring. Bored people talk, and then things get out of hand from there."

"Well, General, with the news I have received, they might not be quiet for long."

"What do you mean?" Leia asked.

"I just received word from a security droid stationed at the casino city of Canto Bight."

Leia gave a very unprincess-like snort. "They say the Outer Rim is where the scum of the galaxy flock. Canto Bight is full of more criminals than people on Tatooine."

"I couldn't agree more, General. Your father once had to attend a gala there and I was constantly mistaken for a waiting droid. It was humiliating."

Leia smiled. "What's the information, Threepio?"

"It seems there was a skirmish. Senator Kaid Dexshi's assistant has turned up dead on one of the beaches, but the senator is nowhere to be found, and neither is his ship."

The general put a hand to her face, thinking. "Dexshi has been on our watch list for some time. My contacts in the Senate say that he put in for leave abruptly a few days ago, and hasn't been seen since. And now his assistant is dead. Was he with anyone else?"

"Whoever the senator may have met with is unclear, but he was accompanied by two security personnel. This droid called them 'highly suspect.'"

"And why is that?"

"This security droid says that most guards are left outside the city, and the few who are allowed entry are typically unarmed and accustomed to the ways of the city."

"Meaning they participate in the fun."

"Yes, General. But the two guards with Senator Dexshi were both armed and completely unmovable. If this droid did not know better, it would have claimed they were droids themselves."

"A kill squad perhaps?" Leia mused. "The First Order is growing bold if they think they can just execute senators on a whim, especially those we suspect work for them. It would be showing their hand.

"It's not much to go on, Threepio, but keep an eye on it. Have all your informants look out for that ship. I want to know the instant it pops up again."

"Yes, of course, Prin – General."

Leia smiled again. "You know, Threepio, it's okay if you call me princess."

"I would never, General! You gave me an order!"

And with that, he left. He had other droids to check on.

* * *

_Thand Sector  
__Expansion Region_

Her memories of her early days of training were few and far between, buried beneath over twenty years of the same exercises, a tune played so frequently it was forgettable in its invariance. However, it was due to the unchanging daily routine that a few events stood out, shining beacons in the dark.

_I just want to go home!_

She'd heard that statement a hundred times before, a thousand. Recruits would cry it out during training, in the middle of the night, even halfway through their meals. Their words fell on deaf ears, tears on eyes turned away. Even the other children soon stopped helping one another, tired of the same sounds or afraid of being punished by association. The training increased and eventually the cries died off. They had no homes. There was only the First Order.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of her mind, Demo could recall her voice uttering those words, one of those beacons in her memory, fading fast. She didn't know where it was or to whom. It was more of an impression, a feeling of the syllables striking against her vocal cords, a burning at the back of her throat. She'd cried hard and often, until there was no voice left.

_Mama._

The boy – Galen, she recalled – was sitting in the lounge area, tucked on the other side of the couch so that she could not see him, but every once in a while, his arm would poke out or she'd catching him sniffing. She'd been watching after him from the cockpit ever since he'd exiled himself there, though she had no reason for it. Demo simply found that she could not pull her eyes from the scene.

Her knees had grown stiff from her elbows leaning on them, but Demo felt that if she moved, she was breaking some sort of rule she had established for herself, so she ignored the discomfort and carried on. It hardly registered. The sort of pain she had been trained against was far worse than this.

There was a debate in her mind, she could feel it, although she was not privy to any information. It was simple a tug in the back of her mind and in the pit of her stomach.

A small alarm rang on the console. The ship was approaching its destination.

Demo saw Galen stir but did not wait to see his reaction. She began to prep for the drop from lightspeed, hands flitting across the controls as if she had piloted the ship her entire life. Every class, every manufacturer had been lectured to her over the years. She had a functional understanding of ships from the last sixty years. Cross sections, weapons layouts, flaws and advantages both.

The senator's ship was made for luxury alone with no defensive capabilities, little maneuverability, and the barest of shields, a peculiar choice for an individual who knew full well the extent of things in the Unknown Regions. She almost ventured to say it was part of his cover, but could not bring herself to give the man that much credit.

The stars returned as the ship dropped from hyperspace, revealing an asteroid belt that stretched for parsecs. Eons ago, there had been a planetary collision that left the system bereft of life. Only a gas giant and a white dwarf star that barely stood out through the cluster of rocks in the asteroid belt remained. No one had ever bothered naming them.

Demo easily navigated the ship through the floating debris, making her way to the mining colony. A few of the larger pieces had small collectives that still gathered ore where they could find it, but for the most part, activity had been relegated to the twin cities spiraling through the belt between two of the largest asteroids.

At one point, one side had represented a higher class – reserved for the businessmen and other corporate pundits – while the other was reserved for workers, but with the mines shutting down, it was all the same. Nameless faces wandering in near claustrophobic conditions going nowhere fast.

She heard Galen behind her, probably standing just outside the threshold. Curiosity overcame many things, anger and despair included.

Even orders, she supposed.

Demo mulled over her approach. She knew the relative location of the First Order docks. A quick radio to them would confirm their location. She did not doubt that they would be interested in her arrival. Although, given she was well within sensor range, Demo was forced to wonder if the base had been informed of her treachery.

It was entirely plausible that General Hux would want to keep the matter as internal as possible. There was some good reason to it: the prevention of morale damage as well as spy interference would be of the utmost priority. However, that also gave Demo the distinct advantage of being well and truly unexpected.

The First Order was not searching for her here.

How the next few moments played out was entirely up to her.

Demo noticed her hands were shaking.

"What are they going to do to me?" Galen's small voice asked behind her.

Beat him down and drag him back up. Put him through endless exercises until his body broke. Curse at him, wound him, drill him, erase every bit of individuality he possessed in order to become a part of the whole. Steal his memories and replace them with the same arduous routines; steal his thoughts and replace them with orders.

Steal his life and replace it with the First Order.

"Nothing you will enjoy," she replied, surprised by the honesty of her statement. She never referred to anything she did in any sort of emotional context. It was in successes and failures, levels of necessity.

She reached for the comms.

"They killed everyone I lived with and sold me. How could it get worse?"

Her hand froze, hovering.

The eyes were watching her again.

_Trin. Run._

Her hands returned to the controls, guiding the ship to the lower half of the asteroid. Galen called out in protest, but she ignored him, tracking incoming signals until she located an empty dock to her liking.

The ship eased onto a rusted platform, droids scattering in its wake. A pit droid shook its metallic fist in the ship's direction before the coolant systems unleashed a wave of steam that knocked it straight into an empty fuel drum.

Demo felt the landing gear grind into place before slowly releasing her hands.

She took a breath.

"Come with me," she said, spinning around in the chair and making her way into the main chamber.

Demo quickly went through any drawers and panels that were accessible, hoping for extra weapons or anything else advantageous, but most only offered additional alcoholic options. The senator's ship truly was the most useless thing she had ever boarded.

"Are you taking me to the First Order?" Galen asked, small voice defiant. He was glaring at her, a spark in his eyes that said he would fight her if he had to, no matter how small his chance of success.

She watched him a moment.

"No," Demo eventually replied, rechecking her blaster before holstering it underneath the jacket of her security uniform. She threw open a closet door, searching the interior.

"No?!" Galen echoed, enthusiasm overwhelming every syllable. She heard him jump. "What made you change your mind?"

She did not answer him, grabbing the smallest jacket she could find in the closet and tossing it toward the boy. "Put this on, collar up."

Demo waited while Galen put on the dark blue coat. It would have been too large for him even if he wasn't underweight, but it kept the inhibitor collar well-concealed, given the ends nearly went past the tops of his ears. The boy looked absolutely ridiculous, but that was hardly important, so long as no one thought she was parading a slave around.

When he was ready, Demo lowered the ramp, taking a quick glance at the stars on the other side of the shields before turning to the docking station. A single gran stood at the entryway with a datapad, mindlessly tapping away with little attention paid to them.

Her squadron had been trained to move as one, even without verbal or visual cues. They had an instinct, a connection that allowed one another to seamlessly transition through any space. So used to such simple cooperation, Demo had completely forgotten that the boy was neither one of her squad mates nor a simple soldier who was tasked to do as she commanded and nothing else. She'd been nearly off the platform when it occurred to her that he had not followed.

Galen was still at the bottom of the ramp, staring at the stars, a large grin stretching across his face.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him so hard, her grip was the only thing keeping him from falling down.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!" he exclaimed, his little voice echoing in the large chamber until they'd finally met up with the gran and she let him go.

The gran blinked at the boy before looking to her. "Hope you're not planning on staying long. Ship like that won't last the night. We don't pay for that kind of security."

"Keep the ship," Demo replied, already turning toward the exit. "Strip it for parts. Space it."

"We don't do that either!"

He was already well behind them, an echo through the rusting hallway that led to the main station.

Demo could hear Galen's quick footsteps struggling to keep up with her and slowed her gait. She wanted to move out of the area quickly, but tiring out the boy before they had gotten anywhere remotely defendable was not going to help her out.

When they reached the interior, the bustle of Kafrene put Demo on high alert. Canto Bight had been one thing, but the large, crowded interiors of the space station nearly put her in a panic. Sensory overload. There were too many individuals to take in, too many pathways to observe, too many places to hide and things that could go wrong.

She paused briefly to reorient herself, and felt Galen bump into her.

Her arm reached around and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, bringing him in front of her.

"Keep walking. Turn when I say. Don't talk."

His hazel eyes glanced up at her. "But what about-?"

Her eyes narrowed and Galen looked forward.

They snaked through the crowds, keeping their pace the same as those around them. Every now and again, Demo would guide the boy with her hand, but otherwise let him lead them through the crowded space, allowing his curiosity to take control as she kept an eye out for any obstacles.

She discarded her jacket at one point, allowing it to drop to the ground for the crowd to dispose of eventually. It left her in her black undershirt, the fabric clinging to her skin. So many bodies close together while steam poured from questionable vents left the area boiling hot.

In the process, she had moved her blaster in front of her, occupying the small space left between herself and Galen. Few noticed it; fewer cared. An overly curious miner made a noise and shuffled away from her, but no one tried anything that would have caused an altercation.

"Where are we going?" she heard Galen ask above the clamor.

"I said 'don't talk.'"

"Yeah, but for how long?"

She ignored him, steering him down a smaller, quieter street. It was a mostly residential area, with workers turning off into unmarked doors that led to towering spirals of rusting apartments. Despite having more space to move, Demo kept Galen squarely in front of her.

"Do you have a plan?" the boy asked again.

"Keeping quiet."

"That's not a plan!"

"And that isn't silence," Demo replied, squeezing his shoulder.

"Ow, ow, okay!" Galen relented, though she could still hear him mumbling under his breath. The child went through a wide range of emotions in a small amount of time. It was a wonder he could focus on anything.

He was quiet for nearly a minute.

"I'm hungry."

"I told you-"

"Yeah, yeah, be quiet, but silence isn't going to feed me!"

"I don't have any money."

Galen crossed his arms. "Should have thought about that before you got off the ship."

Demo sighed. "First, you complained about the First Order. Now you are free and you are still complaining."

Stopping in his tracks, Galen turned to face her. "You haven't been around kids much, have you?"

She turned the boy around and pushed him forward.

They continued down the pathway, the crowds lessening as they left the residential areas and moved toward the station's life support. Endless rows of piping that nearly made up the entirety of the core that connected both asteroids. Here, the safety of numbers was gone, but Demo could think, predict, act. The less variables, the better.

Two silhouettes turned in front of them, perhaps one hundred feet away, maybe less. They carried themselves confidently, a far cry from the workers who had glumly ushered themselves through the crowded station.

She felt Galen slow and pressed him forward.

"Keep going."

"But they-"

"Have been following us since we arrived."

"How do you know that?"

It was obvious they would be followed. The instant their ship came into view, there would have been many interested parties. Luxury like that doesn't go unnoticed, that was the entire point, which was why she had been quick to rid herself of it.

Some curious onlookers would have lost interest due to their ragged appearance; others had been lost in the crowds, but some were still determined, the desperate and the curious. These particular bandits had stuck out to her the most.

When most people walked, their heads would swivel every now and again, distracted by a sudden noise or a curious image in their periphery. It was nature to not look forward at all times, unless there was something to focus on, and a target qualified.

Most tails attempted to counter this by looking interested in nothing at all, but most overcompensated, turning their heads too much or too quickly. There was nothing natural in the movement, and made them stick out even further in return.

Demo had pinned these two down without even looking behind her, using the reflective surfaces of her surroundings to gauge their situation.

It was also how she knew there was another interested party behind them.

She stopped, grabbing Galen's shoulder to do the same. To their left was a large alcove, to their right a wall lined with pipes and electrical wiring. Steam billowed around the air. There was maybe ten feet between each side.

Small, contained, where she could dictate the pace.

"Don't turn your head," Demo whispered, staring straight at the incoming attackers. Both were human, tall, well-fed, armed with large blasters that were currently holstered, no doubt to interact with threats first before actually drawing, not that it mattered. The zabrak behind her already had his blaster out, ready to fire if anything went wrong. "When the time comes, lie flat on the ground."

"How will I know?"

She didn't answer, keeping her focus on the two men walking forward. They were casual, almost smiling; they would regret that.

_Wait, _a voice in her mind spoke.

_Wait._

_Wait._

Demo shoved Galen into the alcove, not pausing to check on him as she quickly turned to fire on the zabrak behind them, hitting him in the shoulder, the being too stunned by her sudden movement to fire back. He hadn't expected her to go for him.

Her momentum carried on, swinging her back around to fire on the two humans as they grappled for their blasters. She wasn't Gunner, and her hit on the right man was only glancing, but it was enough to send them into a frenzy, collapsing to the ground as she stepped into the alcove and cover.

"Stay down!" she shouted, catching Galen glancing up at her from the corner. His face disappeared again as she began to climb the piping that lined the walls.

Blaster fire pounded the edge of the alcove as the two humans attempted to dispatch her, but she was too high up and out of their sight, and Galen was too far in to be in any danger. Demo wrapped herself around a protruding pipe, aiming her blaster at the opening and waiting.

They could eventually drive her out. She and Galen were cornered after all. They could wait, call for reinforcements, strand them there with no chance of aid, but they had even less patience than Captain Phasma, and perhaps as much pride. They would come to her, and in that lay her victory.

The blaster fire ceased and she could hear them yelling back and forth, swearing and passing blame onto one another.

Their voices drew closer.

_Wait._

In their foolishness, both humans turned the corner, opening fire on the open air. Galen screamed at the sounds, but was unhurt as the bolts flew clearly over him. Demo fired two shots. Two bodies hit the floor.

Without wasting time, she jumped down, taking cover on the other side to prepare for the zabrak, but no attack came.

Then she heard the sound of footsteps running away.

Wasting no time, Demo jumped from cover, aiming down her sights at the rapidly shrinking figure.

_Wait._

The blaster had decent range, and she had time.

Her finger slowly closed around the trigger.

"Don't!" Galen shouted his hands closing around her wrists and pulling her arm down. Demo's trigger discipline just stopped her from misfiring her blaster. She only barely stopped herself from elbowing the boy in the jaw as well. It was instinct and she was fighting tooth and nail against it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice harsh and loud.

"Don't kill him!"

"They tried to kill us!"

"That doesn't mean we should kill him!"

She wrenched free of his grip and raised her blaster again, but the zabrak had already rounded the corner. Part of her wanted to give chase; part of her knew it was pointless.

Demo looked down at him, ready to berate the boy, but the words were lost to her as she found him staring right back up at her. He was not going to budge.

Another pointless effort.

With a sigh, she turned to the bodies of the two humans on the ground. She began to search them.

"Why are you doing that?"

Galen was looking down on her, a disturbed look on his face.

Demo produced a credit chip and offered it to the boy. "Do you want to eat or complain?"

He stared at the gold piece as if it was covered in the blood of its former owner.

And then took it.

* * *

.

.

.

No Poe this chapter, but he will make a triumphant return in the next one, promise. Things are starting to kick off!

Until next time! Thank you!


	5. Chapter Four

Just so everyone is aware, during this crisis, I am considered essential personnel, so I am not on lockdown. I still go to work five days a week, so don't expect me to be popping these out rapidly. That said, everyone please stay safe, wash your hands, keep your distance. We can beat this stupid virus.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Ring of Kafrene_

"Are you sure you know how to do this?"

"Yes."

"Like…how well?"

Demo glanced up at the anxious hazel eyes staring at her in the mirror. She'd seen that fear and uncertainty before. In recruits, enemies, even veteran officers of the First Order. She had viewed such emotions with reserved disdain. They represented weakness, cowardice, a lack of faith in their doctrine, but in Galen, this was not the case. She understood his doubt and wanted to clear up the matter.

Her gaze returned to the task at hand, fingers deftly removing unnecessary components. "I spent years learning how to defuse various devices, inhibitor collars included. Yours is unique, but not unmanageable."

"Is there a bomb in it?"

"Most likely."

The way Galen froze told Demo she had erred. Honesty, it seemed, was not the best route. She could see the tenseness growing in his shoulders, and the fear returning to his eyes tenfold. For once in all her training, she had no idea how to react.

"It will be fine," Demo said quickly," the tone of her voice higher. Was she panicking herself? "There is no need to worry."

That seemed to have the opposite effect. He was starting to breathe harder. He couldn't flee – she'd used what credits she found to gain access to a room for the next few days – but that did not mean he wouldn't move away from her, and prevent her from finishing the work.

Desperate, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Galen. Nothing is going to happen to you."

The effect was instantaneous. The boy's breathing slowed, and his eyes closed as he composed himself.

"Okay."

Demo returned to work, sifting through the wiring she had exposed on the back of the collar. That was how Galen had wound up in front of the small mirror in the room: he wanted to watch her work. However, his eyes remained closed now, his hands balled into little fists.

Using the small blade she'd kept tucked in her boot, Demo quickly cut the wires, not taking a moment to second guess her choices. The training was all there. Her hands knew what to do, and despite the current mess she found herself in, she still trusted them. She had to, or she might very well lose it altogether.

When the last wire snapped, a hissing sound came from the collar, and a click.

Galen was free, and clearly aware as he grasped the collar and all but tore it from his neck, giving Demo little time to grab the thing before he rushed into the middle of the room and yippeed in joy. She let him continue his ridiculous affair, choosing not to berate him for nearly tossing a potentially unstable component, and examined the collar closely.

There was no bomb.

Demo blinked, rechecking her results, but her eyes were not lying to her. What she did find were several half-filled vials of a liquid she did not quite recognize. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't had a negative impact on the boy.

She glanced at him, still celebrating his newfound freedom, and wondered what it all meant. Elements of his tale were not lining up in her mind, pieces she could only guess at, but guessing went against everything she had been taught. If nothing led her to the conclusion, it was better to leave it be.

And so, she did. She let Galen tire himself out while hiding the collar in one of the drawers of a provided dresser, and decided to leave that part of their journey behind them. Her goal had been to relieve him of the stress, and both of them of the curious looks they received. Mission accomplished.

Demo sat in a small chair tucked in the corner of the room, watching as Galen stared out of the lone window. There wasn't much of a view, but it was slightly more engaging than the place they were in. A lone bed, sparse furniture, tiny refresher and the basest cooking tools shoved onto a tiny shelf on the wall – with no actual means to cook. The walls were chipped, the floors stained, and there were questionable markings all throughout, but Demo had been looking for low profile. Comfort was always the last priority.

Galen did not seem to mind in the least. He gave a contented sigh and flopped on the bed. She watched dust kick up all around his form, and her lip twitched.

"I haven't slept on a bed for a while," the boy said, immediately curling up on the mattress. Demo just barely restrained herself from telling him to leave the sheets alone, given they may need to run at any point. Also, they were clearly filthy. "A wild herd of Blurrgs won't be able to wake me up."

Slavers were a wretched breed, but the First Order utilized their services now and again. They were a more subtle means of collecting new recruits. Though they were often malnourished and in need of medical care, the slaves tended to work the hardest – after all, the First Order provided them with more than they had ever known. Most were not as…exuberant as Galen however.

Demo let the room remain silent, finally allowing herself a chance to think since they first stepped foot on the station. There weren't many options available to them. Stealing a ship would be the most likely avenue to take. The Ring of Kafrene might have been a good place to disappear, but lingering on the first system they came to was a bad idea. They'd have to hop over multiple before she could comfortably say they'd escaped. Even then, there would always be a tug at the back of her mind, a knowledge that someone was looking for her. As it was, she was the largest security breach the First Order had seen, and until their plans were finalized, they would seek her out.

The thought of being the thing that undid years of work did not sit well with her.

None of this did.

She glanced back to Galen, who had fallen utterly still. It seemed he had spent the last of his energy celebrating.

Surely there were safe places to leave a child. Not here, and frankly she didn't know where, but they had to exist. Demo couldn't keep dragging him around. It wasn't safe for either one of them. A few systems came to mind that had more agreeable circumstances, but they were far away, and in dangerous opposition to what the First Order stood for. Though the likelihood of them discovering her origins was small, almost non-existent, she could not take that chance.

Demo sighed and stood up. The boy may have been exhausted but her mind was far too active to even consider sleep.

She stared out the window, watching steam billow through the dull pipework. It was occasionally broken up by a stray speeder, hurtling through the narrow corridors at a reckless pace.

It was growing very apparent to Demo that she could think and plot and calculate all she wanted, but she was out of her depth here. Without orders to rely on, she had her routine, and without her routine, there was nothing. She was adrift, a dead ship in space.

There was still the outpost. She could put the boy on a ship bound for the core. They wouldn't look for him once she turned herself in.

And then this mess could be over. Things could make sense again.

"Did you want to sleep?"

Demo glanced down, catching a single, bleary eye looking up at her.

Galen smiled. "Sorry, I kinda…took over the bed."

"No," Demo replied, shaking her head. "Go to sleep."

"Okay," the boy said with a yawn, rolling over. More dust kicked up.

She returned to the chair, and could feel the cold of the room seeping into her body, the fabric of the undershirt too thin to maintain her temperature, but Demo ignored the sensation. It was a relief from the heat of the crowded hallways.

What was she going to do?

What had she done?

"I never got your name," she heard the boy's tired voice call out.

"You don't need it," Demo replied. Very few officers knew her designation; very few had permission to even interact with her.

"What am I supposed to call you?" he asked, his argumentative side overruling his exhaustion. "I'll make something up if I have to, and you probably won't like it."

She sighed. "DV-7892."

There was a pause.

"Yeah, I won't remember that."

"Demo," she admitted at last. "They call me Demo."

* * *

_The Finalizer  
__Unknown Regions_

_Why didn't I take the shot?_

It had been the one question circling Gunner's mind ever since they left Canto Bight. Over and over, the syllables echoed until they lost all meaning. They were no longer words, yet the sensation was still there. He had failed. It was his mission to keep things on track, to ensure that their commander had the backup required in order to accomplish the unit's mission.

But his commander had faltered.

And so had he.

He had known, as Demo stood there on the ship, with the landing platform slowly closing, that she would never open fire on him; he had known that she was aware of the same. She watched him, waiting, knowing that he was under strict orders to execute any and all traitors. They had done it in the past. Recruits they had known for years had been put down without a second thought, because those were their orders. Orders were meant to be obeyed. Those who could not do so were a weakness and liability to the First Order.

She knew he had to kill her, and did not bother hiding.

He knew he had to, and he could not pull the trigger.

Had she calculated that outcome, or was she just as confused as he was?

_Why didn't I take the shot?_

They'd trained together for years, as pilot and gunner. Perhaps there was some emotional weight to all that training, to all that time spent together, but Gunner knew if he was ordered to execute Seven and Fuse where they stood, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

But not Demo.

Never Demo.

_Why didn't I take the shot?_

Gunner took a breath, clearing his mind. His emotions were getting the better of him. He needed to stay focused.

He was standing in General Hux's office, quietly waiting by the door as the General argued with Kylo Ren, who had taken it upon himself to know about the outcome of the mission first. The two high-ranked leaders in the First Order had a tendency to compete with one another, complete with every form of pettiness imaginable. The disobedience of a soldier in the General's elite squadron gave Kylo Ren the advantage.

"The Supreme Leader was right not to trust your foolish project with any real responsibility," Ren spat, the mask amplifying the disdain in his voice. "Pirates and smuggler scum can be handled by any low-ranking trooper. One step into the real world and your elite unit crumbled. You put too much faith into these child soldiers."

"Mind your tongue when you speak of too much faith, Ren," Hux replied, glaring at the masked man without worry. "Or shall we discuss who has served the First Order for the least amount of time? Certainly not my troopers."

No one knew who was beneath the mask. Gunner had heard rumors circulate between other troopers during mealtime, but he never questioned those things. Faces didn't matter, only rank, but the General seemed to imply otherwise.

A weapon activated, bright red, buzzing with energy. He'd heard the phrase lightsaber tossed around once or twice.

Gunner acted immediately, leveling his blaster on the back of Kylo Ren's head. The man seemed to know this, spinning around and cutting his blaster in two. His hand reached out, and suddenly Gunner felt himself pulled forward, until his neck was in the clutches of Kylo Ren, the red blade glowing hot beside his skin.

"This is the one who was with the traitor," he said, certain. Gunner could not see his eyes but he knew the man was staring right into his. "Perhaps we should ask him why he let her escape."

"Knight Squadron is under my jurisdiction, Ren. When I need input in regards to finding old, decrepit men, I'll ask for you."

The two stared at one another, waiting, all the while Gunner watched the blade.

Then it disappeared, and he felt Kylo Ren's grip slacken. He fell to the floor, taking a brief moment to breathe freely before standing again. By the time he recovered, Ren was gone.

Hux stormed up to him then, all composure from his interaction with Kylo Ren gone. "I do not care how long it takes you or to what corners of the galaxy, you _will _find DV-7892, you will bring me the target, and you will bring her in or execute her where she stands."

"Yes, General."

"Leave!"

Holstering his damaged weapon, Gunner fired off a quick salute before departing the room. He began to walk back toward his quarters, where he'd grab Seven and Fuse and take off in search of Demo. There were only so many places she could have gone, and fewer than that would have met her criteria. He knew her, just as well as she knew him, and that would be her downfall.

As he strode down the hallway, Gunner passed Captain Phasma, her chrome armor aggravating his eyesight as it always did. He heard her footsteps pause, her armor clank as she turned around.

"How predictable," she said, disappointed.

He stopped in his tracks, feeling his fists clench and unclench. Gunner could feel her gaze on him, waiting for him to do anything.

And then he continued forward, as his training demanded.

Demo had failed the First Order, but he would not.

* * *

_Ring of Kafrene_

_There was a home, drowned in sunlight. A woman and child's laughter chased her through the halls. She watched them dance around a table, until the woman caught the child and lifted her into the air. _

_A man entered, face warm and kind. He had a limp, but moved without a care when the girl leapt into his arms. He swung her back and forth, smiling as she giggled. _

_The light faded._

_Kaid Dexshi appeared, looking at her in indignation. He wasn't afraid of dying in that moment. In fact, he did not believe she would ever take the shot. He was just…annoyed._

_And then she fired._

Demo sat up, her pistol at the ready, pointed in the direction her instincts had deemed dangerous.

Galen was watching her from the bed, not bothered by the fact he was confronted by the weapon again. His face was obscured, darkened by the shadows of the room and the dull, yellow glow from the window behind him.

Lowering the pistol, Demo ran her free hand over her face. She was sweating.

"You were talking in your sleep," he said quietly. "But you were mumbling, so I couldn't make anything out, if that makes you feel better."

It didn't. She hadn't had a nightmare since she was a child, making the sensation wholly unfamiliar to her. Another strange occurrence for an already confusing time. The order and routines of her daily life were slipping away, and it would undoubtedly get worse.

"Are you okay?" Galen asked. The boy was obsessed with that question, with the desire to know how she was doing. It aggravated her. No one asked how the others were doing, not in the way he was. Physical damage, that was all that concerned them, whether or not a trooper could continue the mission. There was nothing else to it; there were no good or bad days, just days. Emotional compromise was not something that happened.

But that was what happened to her, wasn't it?

"I'm fine," was her quick answer. She stood up, stretching, easing the aches that came from falling asleep on the chair. She hadn't realized how tired she actually was. "Go back to sleep."

The boy laid down, but Demo doubted he would fall asleep. There was a certain tone in his voice when he had more questions, and he was never one to shy away from those.

"How did you do all that?" he asked after a while, as Demo stood in the middle of the room debating if she ought to start her exercise routine. "Back in the alley."

"It was how I was trained."

"You were trained to kill?"

"Among other things."

_Many_ other things. Basic knowledge in most things, refined in fewer, enough to ensure a small group of troopers would never need reinforcements for anything as simple as having no specialists attached to the unit. But the most important aspect of all training was the knowledge that she was capable of killing whatever they ordered dead.

"For how long?"

"Since I was younger than you."

She heard Galen sit up in the bed. Demo wasn't certain why she was humoring him. Perhaps the questions kept the dream at bay. For once, the silence she preferred was not her ally.

"And how old are you now?"

That one made her pause. She was aware of the passage of years, and certain dates, but for the most part, these things were unimportant, their existence was of no use to her mission. She was certain a datafile somewhere had the information, but she did not.

"I don't know," she admitted. If she had to guess, somewhere in her thirties.

"How do you not know?" Galen asked loudly, as if that was the most offensive thing she had told him. More confusing than the current state of things was the young boy assaulting her with questions.

"Because it is not important," she replied, walking to the window and finally hitting the panel to close the shades. "Go back to sleep."

She heard his head hit the pillow again.

Out of options, and not wanting the noise to keep Galen awake, Demo returned to the chair. Terrible dreams aside, she would need the sleep. She couldn't be certain what the next day would bring.

She closed her eyes briefly, but something was bothering her.

Demo sighed. "Go ahead."

"Are you a slave?"

"I'm a _stormtrooper_."

"You're in trouble for leaving, were trained since you were a kid, and you don't even know how old you are."

"And you were in a box with a collar on."

"Yeah, but I have a normal name and know how old I am. Guess that makes you worse than a slave."

She glared at the particular dark spot she knew Galen was occupying, waiting until she heard him shift on the bed, getting comfortable. At least he was learning when his questions were no longer wanted.

Demo closed her eyes again, emptying her mind. Now that she was purposefully attempting to fall asleep, perhaps the dreams would leave her be.

She felt her body relax, the stress leaving her shoulders and jaw. Her breath evened out, slowly, steadily. The small noises of the room began to fade into nothing.

Then her eyes opened.

Something wasn't right.

Intuition was something her unit had been lauded for, perceiving events faster than most stormtroopers. It was one of the reasons they had been singled out for training early on. Knowing someone was around the corner before they made the turn or firing their weapons before they even acknowledged the target were common occurrences in her squadron. But this was something else. An itch in the back of her mind, prompting her to investigate.

She stood once more, leaning against the wall that was shared with the outside hallway, listening. The walls were thin, and she heard footsteps. Multiple. Too many for that particular hour.

"Galen, get under the bed."

"Wh-wha…?"

"Get under the bed, _now._"

She heard the boy scramble as she leapt on top of the dresser. It sat just beside the doorway, giving her clear view of whomever may enter.

Centering her blaster on the door, she waited.

There was a click, the intruders easily hacking the entry panel. The door hissed, opening slowly, but no one made their way inside.

A small orb rolled across the threshold and into the room.

Without hesitation, Demo dove across the space, flinging the fragmentation grenade back through the threshold before rolling into the refresher. She briefly heard the intruders shout in surprise before the explosion went off, ripping small holes through the wall.

Demo leaned against the doorway, watching the entry, waiting for them to continue.

The window exploded.

Her arm instinctively shot up, defending her face from the shards of glass that shot in her direction. Before she could recover, a hand was around her throat, lifting her from the ground effortlessly. Her attacker, a large hylobon, snarled as she clamored for breath, hands grasping its thick wrists. Its breath was rank, mouth slobbering, left eye scarred and sightless, appearing more like some rabid creature than a criminal lackey.

They were one and the same as far as the First Order was concerned.

Demo did not give him the benefit of an easy time. Her legs came up, kicking in rapid succession, until she was stable enough to recover the knife tucked in her boot. With a quick swing, she stabbed her attacker's wrist, the freedom of her neck accompanied by its howl.

She dropped to the ground, quickly shooting forward and ramming her shoulder into the hylobon's abdomen. It answered in kind, driving both fists into her back and slamming her onto the ground.

As it tried to pick her up again, Demo gripped her knife and surged upright, slashing through the hylobon's gut and spilling its bluish blood all over the tile. Its howl turned into a scream as she turned away, grabbing her blaster pistol before shooting its chest to silence it.

Demo rounded the corner. She was tired of fighting defensively.

A lone human entered the room, blaster drawn, but she fired on him before he had the chance to take advantage of the situation.

She ran, leaping at the threshold and pushing off of it into the closest intruder in the hall outside, punching the zabrak in the temple with her blaster.

Immediately, she turned, walking toward the human behind her as she opened fire with her pistol. She grabbed his body as he fell, holding it against her as a twi'lek attempted to fire upon her. Shouting in some other language, the female attacker jumped behind the corner of the hall before Demo could shoot her.

The world went white, and sound was reduced to a high, eerie pitch.

A flash bomb had gone off, disorienting her. She felt a form tackle her to the ground, and fought to block them with what little she could manage in her state. It must have been the zabrak, the same one from the attack earlier that day. She ought to have known better. Without backup, she was exposed, but she had gotten angry and discarded the safety of the apartment in that anger.

Her hearing came back, though it began to ring again as the zabrak's fist made contact with the side of her face. Demo shoved her hand into her attacker's face, attempting to claw his eyes, but he was just as angry as she, and determined to fight through the pain.

"No!" came a cry to her left.

Suddenly, the zabrak was gone, tumbling down the corridor as if something large had pushed him off of her.

Demo turned, seeing only Galen standing in the middle of the hallway, his hand outstretched.

She didn't have time to question what had just happened, leaping up from the ground despite the pain. She grabbed her pistol, and then the boy, pushing him behind her as she fired at the twi'lek, who had gotten bold and stumbled out of hiding. The bolt caught her in the neck, and she fell.

Twisting around, and turning Galen with her, Demo fired another round into the zabrak's chest, killing him before he had the chance to stand again.

Demo waited for another attacker to show their face, but the hall had grown quiet and still. They were alone.

She whirled on the boy. "That is why we don't let anyone go!"

Galen jumped back, surprised by the anger in her voice. She felt a small tug in her chest at that, but ignored it, stepping back into the apartment. Trudging over the body of the hylobon, Demo peered into the mirror. There was a nasty cut above her eyebrow that would bleed for some time and her left eye was threatening to swell shut, but she could deal with that. Her body had been through worse.

Demo wiped her face on a questionably clean towel and returned to the hall, where Galen still stood, watching the body of the zabrak.

"We need to go," she mumbled, walking past him. She did not bother to check if he was following; she could hear his footsteps behind her.

They walked past several doors, a few of which opened slightly, the residents unable to resist their curiosity. Demo did not look at any of them, her eyes focused on the turbolift. She stepped inside, Galen at her side, and slammed her palm on one of the buttons.

As the lift moved, slower than any she had encountered before, Demo stared at the misshapen reflection of her face in the doorway.

Galen was quiet. She could see his reflection looking down at his feet, distant, somber.

"Have you always been able to do that?" she asked after a while. "Move things without touching them?"

The boy shrugged, then nodded.

"Is that why they put a collar on you?"

He nodded again.

She supposed it made sense that he would not tell her about such abilities, after all, they hardly knew one another. Something like that, it was rare, valuable. She'd heard of others being able to do it, enemies of the Empire before it fell, beings such as Luke Skywalker.

And then there was the Supreme Leader and his apprentice, Kylo Ren.

She could still feel the unnatural sensation of being lifted, her entire body losing control; she'd never felt so helpless in her life before.

This boy beside her could potentially do the same.

The lift opened and Demo stepped out with Galen on her heels. They left the building and wandered Kafrene, with nowhere in particular to go. She just wanted to be as far away as possible before whatever form of authority the base had arrived.

Even in the dead of night, there was foot traffic, though not as much as earlier. She stuck to the crowds for a time, before returning to the abandoned alleyways that made her chest constrict less. Less eyes on her face, less suspicion.

"They came to destroy my village," Galen said after a while. Demo stopped, looking down at him, though he refused to look at her. "We weren't really slaves, not anymore. A lot of us had escaped and made a living on our own. The masters didn't like that, said they needed to make an example of us. I tried to stop them. I even…killed one of them. That's why they took me to Zel Di."

"You said you wanted to go home," Demo said softly. Even she knew she had to tread carefully here.

The boy shrugged. "I guess I don't have one anymore."

Demo paused, watching the boy. He was shaken, from the conflict, but she wondered if perhaps what he did also stuck with him. Killing someone for the first time stays with a person – even she could vividly remember her first kill: a fellow recruit during a training accident – but she had been trained to deal with these things. Galen clearly had not, and had proven that he had an interest in keeping people alive. If his abilities were what killed his assailants, using them again probably did not sit well with him.

And he wouldn't have had to use them if she had just been patient.

Had she still been in command of Knight Squadron, she'd have marked herself down for assessment, and given herself remedial training for such a foolish mistake.

Demo sighed. "We need to keep moving."

She made it about ten steps before she realized he wasn't moving. Her head was throbbing, her vision blurring, and there were undoubtedly people out there looking for answers and vengeance, but she could not bring herself to shout at him.

Returning to his side, Demo offered her hand. "C'mon, Galen."

Galen looked up at her, confused, but she could see a little light returning to his eyes. His lips twitched, an attempted smile, as he took her hand and they began to walk down the alley.

* * *

_D'Qar_

The sight of a dozen or so pilots standing uselessly on the flight line was not unusual as of late. They'd been called to be ready for missions several times over the past month, only for them to be scrubbed before any of the pilots had a chance to jump in their ships.

For a while, there had been a moment of relief. They'd all had enough encounters with stray First Order units to understand that the enemy far outnumbered them, and any skirmishes they got into would undoubtedly lead to some form of retreat. And yet, as the cancelations continued, many found themselves only growing frustrated. If this was a war, it sure didn't feel like one. They had signed up to fight the enemy, not twiddle their thumbs on stand-by. Most of them could have remained at their navy outposts for that, and have been paid for it.

Poe Dameron was torn on the matter. The pilot side of him was just as frustrated as the rest of his companions, but the commander side knew that there were good reasons behind every grounding. Time and time again, Leia had hammered into him the notion that it was better to be bored than dead in space because trigger-happy officers decided to ignore the intel. They needed to be patient. The First Order had been for years, since the fall of the Empire if the reports were to be believed. Without the help of the New Republic, the Resistance could do little more than gather intelligence and make occasional sorties.

Seemed silly to him that the Resistance even existed if it still needed help from the very institution it broke off from, but Poe didn't press the matter. He knew better than most the consequences of arguing with Leia Organa. If the senator side didn't beat you, the exasperated mother would.

He couldn't help but smile at that.

"Hey, now, no smiling here," Snap Wexley chastised. The pilot was leaning against a crate next to Karé Kun, as usual. "We're supposed to be pouting about our assignment, remember?"

"Yes, because our combined tantrum efforts will surely be rewarded with a super serious mission," Jessika Pava joked from behind Poe. He was leaning on the ladder to her X-Wing as Jessika had taken to examining some scorching on the undercarriage that she swore up and down was not there before. "Snap, the General is used to dealing with spoiled brats in the Senate. She's not going to budge an inch."

Snap shrugged. "Well, then I'm out of ideas."

"So, the usual then?" L'ulo L'ampar replied, grabbing the pilot by the shoulder. The duros laughed as Snap shrugged him off, much to the entertainment of Karé. "Take it from an old veteran, Snap. There's no need to rush into anything. The General knows what she's doing, and we need to trust her."

Poe nodded. "He's right. None of us would be here without her."

Still, he couldn't help but feel his words were hollow. The looks on the faces of his fellow pilots said the same.

He was trying, he really was, but sometimes Poe just wanted to be that pilot who disobeyed orders and ran headlong into a scrap with three star destroyers.

Well, maybe not that _exact _scenario, but going with his gut had gotten him into the Resistance. At some point, it had to do something of worth.

"The best thing we can do right now is stay busy and be ready," Poe continued, attempting to convince himself as well as the others. "And keep Jessika from treating her ship like she does droids."

The Great Destroyer, as the droids had nicknamed her, stuck her tongue out at Poe. "The instant I find the kriff for brains who's been messing with my ship, I'm going to have a great outlet for all my pent-up frustration."

"No need to take out all that anger on yourself, Jessika," Karé teased. "We're all here to help you become a better pilot."

The group had a hearty chuckle over that. Poe took it as an opportunity to head back into the base, but quickly realized he was not alone.

A head taller than him, L'ulo was hard to miss, especially when he wanted you to notice.

"You here to give me advice?" Poe asked, walking down the landing strip. He spied BB-8 assisting one of the mechanics with his T-70, recalling the little droid mentioning something about a discharge issue. If he didn't know better, Poe thought his friend was making it up in order to find something to do.

"If that's what you need," the duros replied. He'd been like an uncle to Poe for years, having served with his mother during the Rebellion. He knew better than any of them what awaited the Resistance, and always kept a calm demeanor to counter their frustration. He should have been the one in charge of Black Squadron, even if Poe had been the one to recruit him. "Being a commander doesn't mean you have to handle the burden alone, Poe. You've never been shy about your opinions before."

They entered the underground bunker, the cool air that washed over them smelling of dirt and mildew. It wasn't the classiest base to stage a Resistance in, but it got the job done. Hell, it was even starting to grow on him.

"Those opinions didn't affect the overall mission," Poe countered, leaning against a nearby wall. He watched the tech officers flit back and forth between screens of data, inputting various intel into their systems. It didn't make any sense to him, but he knew half the battle wasn't fought in space or in the field, it was down here. "Leaders aren't supposed to make their subordinates feel worse about things. We're supposed to keep things running smoothly."

L'ulo smiled softly, like a parent looking at their child. "Hard to do that when everyone can read the look on your face."

Poe blinked and sighed. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

Shaking his head, Poe looked away a moment. Sometimes he wondered what the General saw in him, why she decided to let him lead Black Squadron. Most admitted that they believed she was grooming him for something greater, but that didn't sound right for him. Caring about the lives of four people was more than enough. He didn't think he could handle the pressure Leia had on her shoulders every day, much less with the grace she had.

L'ulo rested a hand on his shoulder. "When I was your age, I'd already seen an empire fall, along with more comrades than I can count. I know I'm repeating myself, but you'll be in the thick of it soon enough, and then you'll wish you were back here."

"It's not that I have a problem with. I've seen what they have out there. We all have," Poe countered. "If we keep giving the First Order more time, how much more are they going to throw at us?"

His friend had nothing to say at that. It was a worry he had too.

The silence of the moment was interrupted when Lieutenant Connix ran up to them, braids bouncing and a datapad in hand. She was always typing something out, always busier than everyone around her, it seemed; she had her hands in both operations and communications, and was more or less an acting secretary to the General. If anyone knew what was going on in the Resistance, it was her.

"Excellent timing, Commander," she said, barely looking up from the datapad. "General Organa is looking for you."

"Does she always know when I enter the base?" Poe asked, teasing.

"She's a jedi, Poe," L'ulo said. "They do that."

"We actually issue an alert to everyone inside," Connix said, deadpan. "Means hide all your breakable tech."

Poe rolled his eyes, following Connix as she made a quick exit. "It was _one _datapad!"

* * *

"Before we go further, Poe, I want you to know that you are under no obligation to accept this mission."

That was how the General greeted him as he entered her office. No 'hellos' or 'sit downs' or 'if you say anything about the scrubbed mission, I'm permanently grounding yous.' There was a very serious tone in her voice, different from the usual way she spoke. He knew her well enough at this point. She had something important and, apparently, dangerous.

He suddenly felt heavier as he sat across from her.

"What is it, General?" he asked, just as serious. Poe could be a hot-headed pilot, he was the first to admit it, but he knew when to put all that aside. Sometimes, things just called for him to shut up and listen.

Leia regarded him, and for a moment, Poe thought she might change her mind. But she shook her head, rejecting any misgivings, and continued.

"Have you heard of Canto Bight?"

"Sleezy casino planet, right? Where a bunch of rich moof milkers rub elbows and…" Poe caught Leia's gaze and stumbled. Right, she had been a princess at some point. "I mean, unless you went there, General, then it must not be as bad as it sounds."

She smiled warmly. "Once or twice, not by choice. Your description isn't wrong."

Reaching up, Leia struck a few keys, activating a hologram of a uniformed man.

"Two days ago, Senator Kaid Dexshi's assistant was found dead on one of the beaches. The senator himself and his ship were nowhere to be found."

Poe leaned forward, studying the image. "I take it he has First Order ties?"

"And then some. Unsubstantiated, of course."

Of course. Nothing ever stuck. It was why they were housed in an underground bunker rather than leading the New Republic's navies into the Unknown Regions to find their enemy.

"Then the other night, Threepio got a report of unusual activity on the Ring of Kafrene. Normally, all activity there is unusual. It's a haven for criminals and traffickers nowadays, but security footage shows a woman who was also at Canto Bight the day the senator disappeared, and in his company no less."

He perked up at that. "A First Order operative?"

"Potentially. All evidence suggests that she was an armed escort, and Senator Dexshi usually employed droids."

Poe leaned back, almost overwhelmed by the potential that was before him. They'd never had a break like this. A traitor from the First Order could supply them with the knowledge to turn everything around, give the Resistance the advantage it needed, maybe even get the Senate to finally side with them.

It was almost too good to be true.

His gaze turned back to Leia, and he knew she thought the same.

"Now you know why I warned you," she said with a shrug, standing to pace. Her office was the only room on the base that wasn't covered in some form of flora or dirt. They'd covered the entire room in durasteel, making it feel like a ship rather than an underground bunker. "We can't send in a large force. It would not only panic them but would tip the First Order off to their location. This is a solo mission, Poe, and backup will be a long way out."

Poe knew that he should be hesitant about the mission. It seemed too small scale to be a trap, but it was dangerous nonetheless. He knew he should be worried about all the factors, most of all how he would even be able to track down the target, but he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at it all. This was the something he had been waiting for, and his gut was screaming at him to take this opportunity before it disappeared.

"I'm in," he said firmly, standing. "I'll do the mission."

She almost looked disappointed.

"You've got two hours to get ready, Commander. Report back here when you're ready."

"Yes, General," Poe replied, turning away. He almost said he was ready now, but knew better than that. There were people he needed to see to, and last-minute items that needed to be completed.

When the door opened, he paused, hit by a sudden need to ask something.

"Why me, General?" he asked. They had operatives who were better at this sort of thing, and were undoubtedly closer to the base than he was.

At that, she smiled again. "You've got an infectious personality, Poe. It grabs people by the throat and forces them to like you. We need this person to trust us."

"That was the most insulting compliment I have ever received, General."

"Not likely."

She always could call his bluff.

Within an hour, he was airborne, Black Squadron and Leia watching his ship disappear into the atmosphere. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but for the first time in a while, he had hope.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Sorry I haven't said more, but it's late and I want to go to bed. Until next time!


	6. Chapter Five

I tried so hard to get this out yesterday, but it's Revenge of the Fifth, so it still counts, right?

Besides, I was (and am still) crazy depressed over the Clone Wars finale. It hurts.

Thanks to everyone for joining me on this! To the story!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Ring of Kafrene_

There was a near constant drip of traffic near the docks. Kafrene may no longer have been on any busy hyperspace lanes, but ships were always orbiting the area, waiting for open ports. How the place must have looked in its prime was something that Demo could not fathom.

After much protestation from Galen, Demo managed to break into an abandoned mining office. The walls were a patchwork of different paint schemes and each room had different tech dating to several years. Numerous companies had attempted to make a living off the dying colony, but all eventually fell into disrepair. She was a little surprised to find that none of the gangs had claimed the spot for themselves, but the security on the building had been tight. Someone wanted it to remain empty.

On the top floor, the building provided a clear view of the busiest sections of the docks, and it was there, through the blinds one of the few intact windows, that Demo had been standing for the past two hours, staring at the traffic with a pair of macrobinoculars she had purchased at the behest of Galen. Stealing from people who had done nothing to them did not sit well with him, and she did not have time to argue.

Galen had been silent the entire time. She had expected the boy to be on the brink of exploding with questions, but instead he was content to sit and stare. The earlier conflict had left a mark on him, and he did not know how to get past it.

It should have been a relief to her. Finally, she could get something done efficiently, but instead the silence was beginning to unnerve her.

She sighed.

"Come here, Galen."

Demo heard the boy slide from his seat on an old desk. A moment later, he was by her side, squinting out the window.

She handed him the macrobinoculars and took a moment to appreciate the boy's surprise. To be honest, her eyes did need a break from the strain, and here she was with a spare set, although the chances of him finding what they needed were slim.

"Whoa," the boy whispered as he took in the station. She didn't need to see the smile on his face; she could hear it. "Old Mara had a set of these, but they were nowhere near as good."

She let his gaze wander the area, keeping her focus on the docks. Some were open-air, allowing her to see what exact ships were docked, but others were closed off, and all she could do was infer from the appearance of those exiting the lifts and airlocks. Most of the travelers looked the same: worn down, dirty, most likely local miners that had contracts to some of the closer asteroids still being drilled. Their ships would be too worn down – and more than likely not capable of hyperspace travel – for their personal use. They needed to find a balance between nondescript and functional.

"What are we looking for?" Galen asked eventually, having taken in everything to his satisfaction.

"A ship," Demo answered, pushing the macrobinoculars lightly with her fingers in the direction she wanted him to look. "We need to get off this station."

"And go where?"

"Ship first, destination later."

"I see a lot of ships."

"You see a lot of _freighters_," Demo clarified. "Large ships mean larger crews, meaning the chances of taking the ship unseen are unlikely. We can't afford a gunfight down here."

Her blaster pistol was in desperate need of repair. It had taken a few hits in the last fight and risked overheating far more frequently, but she doubted the shops had the parts she needed, and if they did, it would not be cheap.

"We want something smaller? Something that won't be noticed?" the boy asked, looking up at her. She nodded. "We're not going to find anything like that here."

"We won't if you aren't looking," Demo replied, turning his head back to the macrobinoculars. The boy fidgeted, clearly not enjoying being forced to do anything – was he already bored? – but he settled in and fell quiet again.

Demo scanned the area, taking in the movement below. It was a busy hour. Shifts were changing over. Plenty of ships were coming in and going out, but nothing that caught her eye. She had once considered taking a public transport to the Core, but that idea was quickly discarded; she did not like the thought of being left with too many unfamiliar characters in such a small space, nor did she enjoy the idea of an unknown piloting them.

The First Order had spies everywhere, and she was not about to allow control of the situation to be in anyone's hands other than her own.

"Huh."

Demo blinked, looking down at Galen. "What?"

"A new freighter just landed, but only one guy got off. And he's got a _really _nice droid with him. It doesn't have rust or anything."

Galen offered the macrobinoculars back and pointed in the direction of his discovery. Demo zoomed in on the target, taking in his demeanor, dress, and, as the boy had pointed out, the near immaculate state of his droid. Everything about them advertised that they were offworlders, the kind to be taken advantage of. She saw half a dozen denizens turn in his direction as he passed them by, curious and sizing him up, and he was oblivious to them all.

She almost dismissed him entirely, until he looked in the direction of their building.

She knew that face.

An old report from the Security Bureau by one Agent Terex – an unbearable, prideful man she'd had to work with on numerous training exercises – detailed a pilot of his description, as well as the droid.

"Resistance."

"The Resistance is here?! That is so co-" Galen froze as Demo glanced over at him. "I mean…um…sorry?"

Demo sighed.

There was no such thing as coincidence. Somehow, they'd heard of the attack, and perhaps even what happened on Canto Bight. They were looking for a defector, and would end up bringing the entirety of the First Order down on their heads.

They waited in silence while he entered a cantina. She could see him, just barely, through one of the viewports. His legs were twitching, jumping up and down out of nerves. He was waiting for something with information, and he wasn't doing it very well.

And then he left.

"He's got tails," Demo said, quickly glancing around the area. It wasn't hard to keep the pilot in view. He was the cleanest one on the station. "Lots of them."

"How can you tell?"

"They don't move normally, too focused on keeping an eye on their target," Demo replied, handing Galen back the macrobinoculars and checking her blaster pistol. She pulled the blade from her boot and held it tight against her wrist. "Makes them stand out in a crowd, especially from here."

"Like that Gran in the poncho?" Galen asked as he watched the scene.

"That's one of them. Good eye."

The grin that broke out on Galen's face seemed too big for him.

"I need you to do something for me," she continued, motioning for him to follow. They made their way back through the narrow corridors of the building, carefully retracing their steps. Some of the flooring wasn't stable. "Follow that man. He'll eventually head for a less populated area."

"How do you know that?"

"Whatever information he got in that cantina isn't something he wants to share. Once he leaves the crowd, I need you to keep him busy."

"What about you?"

"We need to lose the tails."

"Wait!" Galen called out, stopping Demo in her tracks. She looked back at the boy, about to chastise him for slowing them down, but was struck by the seriousness in his eyes. "Are you going to kill him?"

Demo sighed. That had not been her first idea, but the potential was always there. A dead man couldn't interfere, although the thought of being wanted by both the First Order _and _the Resistance did not sit well with her. She'd done a terrible job of keeping her head down as it was.

"No."

He smiled at that.

* * *

They entered the crowded streets together, taking a moment to relocate the pilot, who was still wandering the streets, content to let the horde of workers dictate where he went. He wasn't paying much attention to the world around him, mostly concerned with keeping his droid in sight. If this was the best the Resistance had, Demo wondered why the First Order insisted they were top priority.

With a quick nod, Demo watched Galen disappear into the crowd, his small form perfect for weaving through the throngs of miners. Meanwhile, she slowed down, allowing the crowd to pass around her, ignoring the grunts of discontentment and frustration.

The first target was the Gran that Galen had spotted. He was large, over a head taller than her, and trim, a grunt. It would have made for an interesting fight, one that she would have preferred her blaster pistol for, but Demo did not need to kill him. She just needed him to stop following the pilot.

Spinning the blade around in her hand, Demo made a quick swipe across the back of his right knee, tearing through muscle and ligaments. The Gran made such a loud cry as he fell to the ground that Demo quickly slipped through the crowd as their attention was diverted.

Next was a human, who had taken to stall hopping, pretending to look interested in trinkets that had no hope of being sold. She caught him as he passed by a small alleyway and shouldered him into the space, quickly slamming her hand against his neck, crushing his windpipe. It wasn't anything permanent, but it put him out of commission; it didn't matter that a handful of miners had witnessed the event. None of them cared enough to do anything.

The last tail had actually moved ahead of the pilot, no doubt setting up a trap for further down the corridor. Demo nudged through the crowd as fast as she dared without attracting the attention of the older male.

She couldn't be as obvious as the last two, or risk alerting the pilot and scaring him off, so, Demo used the environment around her.

She walked right past the last tail and gave him a quick shove into a particularly large Arcona. A fight broke out from there, tumbling into a Jogan fruit stand and erupting the corridor into chaos. This gave the pilot an opportunity to escape the main halls into a maintenance corridor, with Galen following closely behind.

Satisfied that the pilot was finally alone, Demo backtracked to another alley, hoping to find a secondary entrance to the maintenance access. She moved quietly, swiftly darting past beggars and rusting droids until the alleyway swung back around, taking her exactly where she wanted to go.

Demo kept her blaster pistol firmly in front of her, waiting for the moment that Galen's distraction failed and the pilot cleared the area. But as she crept closer, she could hear two distinct voices engaged in conversation. Despite Galen's constant pestering questions, the pilot did not seem to mind. He sounded as if he enjoyed the interaction.

She continued forward into the opening, keeping as silent as possible. Demo did not want to take the chance of spooking the pilot while he was capable of grabbing Galen. She had to do this slowly.

The boy noticed her, eyes briefly flicking in her direction before he continued to speak to the pilot.

"I needed to distract you somehow."

Taking that as a signal, Demo leapt forward, striking out at the pilot's right leg with her foot. She followed up by lodging her left knee into the back of his and following him to the ground, keeping pressure on his calf as she wrapped her arm around his neck.

She quickly fired a round at his droid. Her blaster pistol wasn't capable of ion disruption, but the stun setting at the highest voltage seemed to do the trick. The droid made a very human cry and shot backwards, short-circuiting and shutting down.

"Hey! What are you-"

Demo tightened her grip around his neck, getting the pilot to submit to her, his hands held high. She quickly returned her blaster pistol to her holster as she searched for the pilot's.

"Can I have it?" Galen asked as she produced the weapon. Demo narrowed her eyes, choosing not to answer as she quickly disabled the blaster and latched it to her belt. She was going to need all the advantages she could get.

"So, I take it you're the fugitive from the First Order, right?" the pilot asked. "I mean, you have to be. You're not asking for any credits."

That confirmed all her suspicions then. The Resistance had somehow discovered her, but whether it was through the events she caused or if they were privy to the mission beforehand, she could not say. Either were terrible options, and put her and Galen at further risk.

"You didn't shoot me, which is nice. Means you don't want me dead. And if you don't want me dead, that means I have something you want, right?"

The pilot enjoyed the sound of his voice too much. No wonder he and Galen had struck up a conversation.

"You know, I've never been good at these guessing games. You're gonna have to speak u-"

Demo grunted, grabbing the pilot's head and pulling back until she got a good view of him. He seemed surprised by what he was looking at.

"Do all members of the Resistance talk this much?" she asked, noting the grin on Galen's face.

"No, just me. I've been told it's a problem."

Sighing, she released his head. It was quickly becoming apparent to her that she should have left well enough alone. But leaving the Resistance pilot to his own devices may have called down more trouble than she was prepared to deal with. If they were lucky – which was not a term she put much faith in – the pilot had gone unnoticed, and this intervention might keep the First Order in the dark.

"Get the droid," Demo ordered, watching as Galen began pushing the loose components back into the astromech's frame.

She was beginning to debate where to take them when she felt the pilot grab her arms and pull her down to the side, taking both of them solidly to the ground. Then he rolled on top of her, his shoulders pressing on her chest.

Her arms loosened as she attempted to breathe and the pilot was quick to scramble out of her grasp.

Angry, mostly at herself for letting him get the better of her, Demo reached out and dragged him back by the collar of his jacket, and used the momentum to swing on top of him, sitting on his chest in turn.

Her blaster pistol was in her grasp a moment later, pointed at his head. Pulling the trigger wouldn't solve all her problems, but she had to admit, a part of her wanted to. Without orders, things such as wants were becoming more frequent in her decision-making. She wanted to shoot him, she wanted to follow him in the first place, she wanted to know what he wanted from her.

"Using the stun setting within two feet of a target causes irreparable damage to the nervous system. You won't be doing that again."

The pilot nodded, moving the one arm not pinned to his side by her leg back to the surrender gesture. "No, I sure won't."

Demo watched him a moment, studying his face, looking for any telltale signs of a lie. Psychology wasn't something she knew much on, but training in the event of capture told her of several things to watch for. The nervous shift of a man who was lying, the changing pitch of the voice, the inability to make eye contact. It all told her the pilot was speaking truthfully.

She stood slowly, backing away from him to where Galen was fidgeting with the droid.

"How am I supposed to move it?" the boy asked, rolling the droid lightly until its processor that doubled as a head hit the ground. "It's gonna get damaged."

Frankly, Demo didn't care how damaged the droid was – she mostly had a mind to sell the thing – but Galen had that look on his face, just like when they had bought the macrobinoculars. He wasn't going to budge until she'd solved the problem.

He seemed to get attached to anything he interacted with for more than a few seconds.

She sighed, kneeling down with her blaster still firmly pointed at the pilot, who had finally sat up. Her fingers scraped under the unit's 'head,' searching for the magnetic release. Pressing down, she heard a click and the processor slid into Galen's hands.

"Hey! Beebee-Ate!" the pilot shouted, rushing forward, briefly forgetting that she had a blaster pointed at him.

Demo quickly stood and stepped forward, reminding him. But instead of slowing down, he attempted to disarm her, gripping the top of her blaster pistol and pushing it down. He assumed she wanted him alive, and was willing to risk that she didn't want to drag his unconscious form across the station either.

But she countered him, using the space he created to quickly head-butt him, before dropping on one knee and twisting her hands to return the blaster's muzzle to his body rather than the ground, not that it mattered. The one hit leveled the man, leaving him clutching his head.

"Leave it, Pilot," Demo warned, standing again. "Droids are dismantled easily. You should know its fine. Now, get up."

He glared at her, but complied, rubbing his temple. She never understood the offense some seemed to take on behalf of their droids. They were expendable, portable computers. One could always be built to replace another. The First Order had a low reliance on them, preferring the intuitive capability of humans to programming.

Demo gestured to the pilot with her head. "Give that piece to him."

"What?!"

* * *

_I'm sorry, Beebee-Ate._

That one phrase circled Poe's mind over and over as he allowed himself to be escorted through the back allies of Kafrene. Frustrated, embarrassed, and more than a little disturbed that he was carrying what equated to his friend's head in his hands, Poe was silent the entire time.

The pounding in his temples didn't help either.

Kriff, her head was hard.

The First Order operative was hardly silent. Aside from her directional commands, she was often engaged with the boy, albeit frustratingly. He kept asking her questions that she was slow to answer, but he was clearly more eager with every syllable he pried out of her.

This wasn't something Poe had expected. What was a First Order defector doing with a kid? Did the kid know who she was? Was he just someone she was using on Kafrene for the time being? Why was he so willing to help her?

What did she do to his droid?!

Poe huffed and turned around, facing the defector. She raised her blaster pistol again, annoyed.

"Keep moving."

"No," Poe replied, much to the defector's disdain. Her eyes narrowed, and he saw her finger reach for the trigger. "Go ahead, shoot me. You going to drag me across Kafrene by yourself?"

"If I have to."

Yeah, she looked like she would.

She wasn't like most operatives he had encountered – although it hadn't been _that_ many. Most had been smug, arrogant, seeing the rest of the galaxy as beneath them. Leia had mentioned that the First Order had grown from the remnants of the Empire, and the personality had clearly carried over.

This defector, however, was just…nothing. The biggest emotion that came from her was frustration. She didn't talk to him, didn't tell him what she intended to do with him, didn't engage in any way, shape, or form that wasn't directly related to a task. He knew droids that were livelier.

Poe sighed, looking down at BB-8. Well, _part _of him. Now would be a good time for that infectious personality that Leia had been talking about.

"Look, I know that the First Order is searching for you and-"

She shot him.

* * *

The headache was worse, pounding drums behind his eyes. He reached up to block the light that was still managing to make its way through his eyelids, wondering what Black Squadron had done the night before to make him feel like this.

Then he remembered.

Poe shot up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the bunk above him. He sat still a moment, breathing, readjusting to the world around him. There was a soft whirring of a fan overhead and the distant hum of the machinery that engulfed the station.

A blonde head popped up at the end of the bunk, grinning at him.

"Welcome back," the boy said. "I'm Galen by the way."

"Galen?" Poe echoed, rubbing his head. Nothing was bleeding or broken, or so he hoped. Everything hurt so it was hard to tell.

"Yep! Galen Marek!"

"Nice to meet you, I think," he replied, turning to put his feet on solid ground. "Name's Poe Dam-"

He froze. Staring at him, no more than three feet away on a chair, was the defector. She was leaning on her knees with her blaster pistol in hand, finger resting on the trigger well. He didn't remember hearing anyone moving when he woke up.

Poe blinked, unable to take his eyes off her. "Has she been here this whole time?"

"Yep!" Galen confirmed, bouncing over to stand just beside them. "Demo does that a lot. She won't move for hours, like a statue."

That wasn't creepy at all.

"Like before you showed up, we were watching the docks, and she just stood there without budging for-"

"Galen," the woman, Demo, warned softly, glancing over at him.

The boy quickly quieted, moving away to the far corner where BB-8 was, still off but no longer in pieces.

They were in what appeared to be an old garage. Poe could make out faint impressions where tools once rested on walls and countertops. Most of the place had been stripped, leaving the bolted down bulk furniture to collect dust. The one light at the center of the room flickered frequently, threatening to plunge the room into darkness.

Poe looked back to the woman, who was watching him again.

"So, Demo is a weird name."

"The humor isn't working, Pilot."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Demo sighed, no longer staring blankly at him. She was analyzing him now, and Poe felt a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"How did you find me here?"

Poe shrugged. That seemed fair. "We got intel on a dead senator's assistant on Canto Bight, then on an attack here, and you were connected to both."

Her eyes narrowed. "People die on Kafrene everyday unnoticed. How did the Resistance think to check here?"

"We have a droid in charge of our spy network."

He heard a click on her blaster pistol. "No more humor, Pilot."

"I really wish that was humor."

There was a moment of silence as they watched one another. It was briefly broken by Galen knocking loose a floorboard and mumbling rapid apologies.

She stood. "You need to leave."

Poe blinked, momentarily shocked into silence. He hadn't expected that.

"Wait, that's it?" he stood, confronting her. "You take apart my droid and shoot me, only to tell me to leave?"

Her blaster pistol returned to his face.

He gulped, raising his hands. "Seems reasonable enough."

"Hey!" shouted Galen as he crossed the room again. "You promised you weren't going to kill him!"

"I didn't promise anything," Demo replied, moving her arm as Galen attempted to grab it. "If he won't leave, he needs to be dealt with. He's attracting too much attention."

Poe felt a little offended at that. "Last I checked, you were the wanted one."

Demo gave him a hard look, one that reminded him a little too much of Leia when she was about to tear apart his entire argument.

"Your missions to Ovanis and Megalox Beta beg to differ," she countered. Poe felt his heart drop at the mention of his missions. "The First Order knows all about you, Poe Dameron. And despite that, you were sent here for me, by yourself, and you allowed yourself to be followed by men who I had to dispose of before dealing with you."

She lowered her blaster pistol. "I'm not going to help the Resistance. Your mission is concluded. Leave."

Poe just stood there a moment, watching her. When he set out for the Ring of Kafrene, he hadn't known what to expect, but every scenario he had gone over in his mind was better than this one. This wasn't a woman who wanted help; this was a hardened soldier on a mission, despite having fled the First Order. If it weren't for the fact she was offering him the chance to leave, he'd say the general's worry of a trap was justified.

Not wanting to get shot again, Poe didn't argue, making his way over to BB-8.

Still, he couldn't help himself.

"Then why did you leave the First Order?"

She watched him, quietly, and for half a second, Poe thought she'd lift her blaster pistol again. But she didn't. Her gaze, normally locked on him, dropped, leaving her briefly vulnerable.

When the station alarm began to ring – a dull, singular note that dropped at a slow cadence – the walls returned and she stiffened, immediately taking in the entire room before charging to the door.

"Stay here," she ordered, glancing at Galen. As far as she was concerned, Poe was no longer part of the equation.

Poe sighed. "Well, that could have gone better."

He couldn't even say it was his worst encounter. Leia said not to believe in luck, but something clearly wasn't working out in his favor.

Kneeling down to his droid, Poe triggered a few switches and watched the lights on BB-8's reticle fire up. As soon as his systems finished booting up, his astromech immediately fired off a scream and began to search for his attacker.

"Hold up, buddy. It's me. You're safe."

BB-8 gave him a series of curt – and unrepeatable – chirps before focusing on Galen, who was still standing in the middle of the room. Producing his shock prod, the little droid attempted to charge the boy, who squeaked and ran behind a column, before Poe grabbed him.

"No, Beebee-Ate! Don't attack the kid!" he shouted, gritting his teeth. Poe hadn't been aware of how strong the droid was.

"I'm sorry!" Galen's voice shouted from behind the column. "I didn't know she was going to disable you!"

After another series of rude whistles – seriously, where did he get this language from? – BB-8 finally quieted down and began to observe their surroundings.

Poe sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples. The alarm, though not shrill, was not helping. If anything, it was adding to the stress that had been piling on top of him since he landed on Kafrene. He didn't know what the alarm meant, but he was certain he wouldn't be leaving on his ship anytime soon.

"She didn't mean to."

Blinking, Poe looked up. Galen was leaning out from behind the column.

"What?"

"Demo. She didn't mean to leave the First Order. Before we landed here, she told me she was going to turn herself in."

Standing, Poe made his way over to Galen. The boy still watched the droid warily, but made his way fully out from behind cover.

"We? You came here with her?"

Galen shrugged. "I was her mission."

Poe didn't know what to say. There were too many questions circling in his mind. But he could feel a chill crawling up his spine at the thought of the First Order needing to take children.

The door opened and Demo marched back inside. "Galen, we need to go."

BB-8 whistled and charged toward her, but when she raised her blaster pistol, the droid quickly changed his tune.

"Now."

"What's happening?" Poe asked.

She leveled a glare on him. "Exactly what I was trying to avoid. The First Order has shut down the docks. We're trapped."

. . .

The people who lived on the station had flooded the streets, fleeing the area as First Order soldiers began to enter. Demo had wondered if they would attempt in incursion of a larger scale, given their muted presence in the galaxy, but Kafrene had been determined not important enough to worry about appearances. It was why she chose it, after all. What she thought had been a favorable quality was starting to work against her.

Even the narrow alleyways were packed with citizens desperate to get to another part of the station, not wanting to be collateral in whatever fight was coming. The First Order did have a reputation of leaving bodies in its wake. Demo had taken to simply forcing her way through at blaster point. There was no reason to be subtle now.

Galen, for once, did not object, though his grip on her hand tightened every time.

"Where are we going?" she heard the pilot call out from behind her. Of course, he had tagged along.

She should have just shot him again.

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Demo replied, shoving a miner out of the way as they entered a maintenance corridor. It was quieter, with fewer residents willing to risk losing themselves among the winding steam pipes. "You can deal with the First Order your way. Go get captured or killed. It'll be a good distraction."

"Like it or not, you and I are both on the same side right now. Neither of us wants to deal with the First Order, and we can do that better together than alone."

Demo bit her tongue, continuing to navigate the narrowing corridor. She did not want to admit it, but the pilot had a point. These weren't overconfident gangsters. If she got into a confrontation with First Order stormtroopers, her chances were drastically different. Though the average trooper did not possess the training she did, they made up for it with numbers and blaster power, and her lack of knowledge about the station's layout gave them a chance at cornering her with no escape.

Having additional help would ease that burden.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"I'll take your silence as reluctant agreement," the pilot continued. "Can I have my blaster back?"

She sighed, stopping in place. Releasing Galen's hand, Demo reached for his blaster, quickly fumbling with it to enable the firing mechanism, before offering it to the pilot. But when he reached to grab it, she quickly pulled it back.

"You walk in front of me."

He looked between her and the blaster, and nodded. "Alright."

"Can I have a blaster now?" Galen asked.

"No," Demo and the pilot replied in unison.

They continued through the station, finding themselves in a similar position, only this time he listened to her commands. The alleys had gotten quieter the further into the station they walked. Demo suspected they may have entered an area most citizens avoided.

"So, where are we going?" he asked again.

"The deep interior," Demo replied, watching their surroundings closely. They had slowed down significantly. "Control of the station is split between a handful of gangs. The further from the ports, the more their sectors overlap."

"Okay, so besides getting ourselves killed by gangsters instead of stormtroopers, how does that help us?"

"Nothing unites individuals like an invading force. The First Order will be hard-pressed to make it further than the civilian sectors," she said, glancing down an empty corridor. "And they won't be able to maintain a presence without severe casualties. If we lay low long enough, they'll be forced to move on."

"How do you know that?" he asked, chancing a glance back at her.

"Is asking useless questions the only thing you can do, Pilot?"

He was silent after that. What was the phrase he had used? Reluctant agreement?

They continued, slowly making their way through Kafrene. The large, civilian buildings began to disappear, leaving them amongst windowless, crude mining warehouses that stored equipment and materials. In between these facilities, were wide spaces where enormous laser drills sat, unused, before large craters carved into the asteroid's surface.

There was a buzz, however, in the distance, growing the further they went. The sounds of people and panic, and above it the shouts of those giving orders.

They exited the corridor at an overlook, with stairs that would bring them to the mining floor. Below them, hundreds had gathered, shuffling into various buildings, some even being led into elevators taking them into the mines below. All of it was being orchestrated by heavily armed gangsters who shouted orders and waved their blasters haphazardly.

"Someone's taking advantage of the panic," the pilot mused, watching the scene unfold with a grimace. Demo watched a woman relinquish her jewelry.

"Someone always does," Galen said quietly.

Demo glanced down at him before sharing a look with the pilot.

The astromech whistled beside him.

"Exactly," he said, leaning on the railing. "We can't get corralled into one of these places. We won't be coming back out."

"Agreed," Demo replied, searching the area. "We need to find smaller buildings, an onsite office that won't be useful to them."

"Or we stick to the alleyways. Keep on the move."

Both had their advantages and disadvantages, yet neither sat well with her.

As they sat there, watching the fray, debating their choices, Demo felt a chill run down her spine. Something wasn't right.

"Get into the crowd."

The pilot looked at her. "What?"

"Do it now. Galen, go with him."

The boy, now well acquainted with her tone, grabbed the pilot's hand immediately and pulled him down the stairs.

She waited until they disappeared before turning around, raising her blaster pistol in time to see Gunner walk around the corner into the alley they had just left.

He'd found her.

* * *

.

.

.

Cookies to anyone who gets the name drop. No, not that one. The other one.

The journey begins! And boy, is it going to be a crazy one. Until next time! May the Force be with you!


End file.
